


Lost and Found

by Jadzialove



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzialove/pseuds/Jadzialove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape wakes to find himself in the oddest situation he'd never imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Thank yous to joanwilder for the thoughtful and thorough beta work, and to Sherry for her excellent and extremely valuable input, which came at precisely the right time.

  
**Lost and Found**  
  
  
  
~*~ Part One ~*~  
  
  
A persistent drone woke him first. If he'd had the energy, he would have investigated and immediately put an end to the infernal racket. As it was, however, he lacked the power even to simply open his eyes; so instead, he surrendered to the slumber that was insistently pulling him back into its warm embrace.  
  
His next awakening also brought awareness of the incessant hum, this time with sharper edges, and he realized then that the noise was a conversation in low tones. Try as he might, he could not clearly determine what was being said, but caught stray words such as ‘custody’, ‘You Know Who’ and ‘Ministry’, and then, heart-stoppingly and in quick succession, ‘Azkaban’ and ‘Potter’. He had no idea why such words should cause him to become anxious, but his efforts cost him whatever small reserve of energy he’d had—before he could assimilate the words, he sank back into oblivion.  
  
It was akin to swimming in mud, he decided. He’d catch a glimpse of escape, would endeavor to reach it, grasping at it desperately, his progress consistently hampered by lead-weighted arms and legs. Consciousness continued to remain elusive to him, just out of his frustratingly sluggish reach, as the mud pulled him under once more.  
  
When he awoke again it was slowly and with a bit more clarity. The hum of conversation was again present; this time, though, he could make out the actual words said. He remained still, and kept his eyes closed, reluctant to alert his captors—he felt quite certain now that he was indeed being held against his will—to his wakeful status.  
  
“I imagine he’ll be a handful once he awakens, though. Are you certain you’re up to the task, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“Oh, I can handle the likes of _him_.” The determined edge in the familiar, and yet, somehow unfamiliar voice sent a chill up his spine. He had the wherewithal to wonder when exactly he’d been captured, what had brought him to this ignoble end, and what vengeful plans the boy might have in store for him, but lacked it to take any defensive action. Near his ear, Potter whispered, “Hold on, Severus.”  
  
The unmistakable tug of a Portkey stole Severus's objection to the boy’s insolence right from his lips. He tried to fight being whisked away, tried with everything within him to grab hold of the linens, the mattress, anything beneath him to gain purchase, but found, to his dismay, that he could not move his arms, or even his fingers. The struggle proved too much for his flagging resources, and he slipped into blackness, as the Portkey transported him to his uncertain fate.  
  
~~**~~  
  
His senses returned to him slowly, and he detected a faint but pleasant lemon scent in the air around him. He lay very still, listening carefully in an effort to determine if he was alone. Hearing nothing at all, apart from a lone cricket, Severus slowly opened his eyes to get a better idea of his surroundings. Although a banked fire, across the room to his left, provided only minimal illumination, he knew straight away that it was not his own tiny bedroom at Spinner's End. It appeared he was currently ensconced in an enormous, solid looking four-poster bed made of a rich, dark wood. Heavy bed-curtains, which might have been black or a deep green, hung open on either side of him.   
  
He made an effort to push the duvet off himself, but found his arms and legs reluctant to cooperate. A bone-deep lethargy had invaded his being—for some unknown reason, he was thoroughly exhausted. As he wasn't prone to panic by nature, and was, at the moment, comfortable and could detect no immediate threat around him, Severus relaxed into the plump feather pillows at his back, and probed his memory for clues as to his location, wondering how he’d come to be in what were quite luxurious surroundings, by his standards.  
  
He closed his eyes, searching for his last memory. He'd received a message by Patronus. The boy must have finally received Dumbledore's posthumous instructions, or more likely, must have finally deigned to follow them. They'd arranged to meet; however, Severus had no recall after that. So the question remained—what had gone wrong?  
  
Half-formed recollections began to flit in and out of his reach—he'd been somewhere else before this. He'd heard conversations….   
  
His customary calm began to give way to something much less so, as the words 'custody' and 'Ministry' and 'Azkaban' came hurtling at him. And Potter. The boy had brought him here, hadn't he? Somehow, he knew, Potter was to blame for this.   
  
Had the insufferable wretch led the Ministry right to him?  
  
Dread formed a lead ball in the pit of his stomach. All of the planning, all of the sacrifices had been for naught. He'd argued with Albus for months to no avail, had even been prepared to suffer the consequences of breaking an Unbreakable Vow. But he'd gone through with the ludicrous plan—not truly knowing he would do so until the moment had been upon him; the memory of Albus's mental pleas for death would haunt him for a lifetime. If he'd indeed been captured.... The ramifications were unimaginable.  
  
Albus had sworn from the start that he would be taken care of, that Potter could be trusted with such vital evidence, that there would be no doubt, in the unlikely event that Severus actually survived this mess, regarding his true allegiance and his part in the man's death. He'd known all along that Albus had been foolish to put so much faith in Potter.  
  
Dumbledore's failure to protect him was a bitter potion on his tongue.   
  
It wouldn’t do to dwell on that now, however. He could lament the situation later. The first order of business was to determine his actual circumstances.   
  
He raised his arm, with some difficulty, and said, " _Accio wand_!" Or rather, tried to say it—his voice was rough and dry from disuse. He cleared his throat and tried again. " _Accio wand_!"  
  
Nothing happened. So, no wand. Unsurprising—perhaps a little light, then, to at least get a look at the room at large.  
  
“ _Lumos_.”   
  
The panic that he wasn’t prone to started creeping up his spine. It was preposterous—even an untrained child could manage a simple wandless lighting spell.   
  
He tried to Summon something he knew was in the room with him. “ _Accio clock_!” The ticking timepiece, which he could only barely discern in the dim light, stayed firmly where it rested on the mantelpiece.  
  
He took a deep breath to assuage the anxiety that was steadily rising in his chest; his situation had just become incredibly more perilous than he'd imagined. For the first time since he'd been a child, a witness to and a victim of his Muggle father's volatile temper, Severus experienced a nearly overwhelming sense of helplessness.  
  
Was his magic somehow bound? He sincerely hoped that was the case, or something equally reversible—the alternative was unthinkable. Potter had brought him here, so what did that mean? The Ministry had, what, _given_ him to Potter? To what end? Why not put him in Azkaban? Perhaps the boy hadn’t set the Ministry after him at all; perhaps he’d somehow managed to _save_ him from the wizards’ prison.   
  
Merlin’s balls—he couldn’t decide which was the more gruesome fate: to be sent to Azkaban, or to be indebted to the Boy Who Lived.   
  
A wave of fatigue settled over him like a heavy woolen blanket. He’d taxed his meager resources, and decided it would be foolish to fight it; he would mourn the loss of his magic, and that of his freedom, after he’d recouped some of his strength and might be better able to do something about it.  
  
He was on the verge of oblivion, when the bed seemed to dip beside him. To his disbelief, he felt what might have been a gentle caress on his face, and then a warm hand rested on his chest.  
  
“I wish you’d wake up, Severus,” the boy sighed in his ear.  
  
He wanted to demand an explanation for this odd behavior, wanted to form an objection to the unlicensed familiarity, but was without the power to do so. It was so absurd, in fact, that his last thought, as sleep came to claim him once more, was to decide it’d actually been some sort of bizarre dream.  
  
~~**~~  
  
“But is it normal for it to take so long?” Potter’s annoyingly plaintive voice dug into Severus's slumber and dragged him unwillingly into consciousness.  
  
“As you know, Mr. Potter, there is no precedent for a drain of this magnitude. I can assure you, though, apart from the extreme exhaustion, there is nothing wrong with Mr. Snape. He simply needs time, and rest. Plenty of it.”  
  
“He's finding it difficult to do so, with two idiots bleating in his ears.” The idiots in question were standing at the other side of the bed. Potter and an unfamiliar man, whom he assumed to be a Healer—the lime-green robes giving him the clue—turned in unison at the sound of his rusty voice.  
  
“Severus!” The boy looked so unaccountably happy to see him that Severus shifted uncomfortably and had to look away from the entirely incongruous reaction; he gave his attention to the Healer instead.  
  
“Welcome back, Mr. Snape, I'm Healer Sedgwick. How are you feeling?” The Healer had a detached yet caring manner about him that seemed to be common in medical professionals—it made him much easier to deal with.  
  
“Like I’ve been trampled by centaurs, then roused by banshees.” Potter glared at him half-heartedly, and then smiled like an imbecile. What the devil was wrong with the boy? And he looked…odd. Something was off about him, but Severus couldn’t put his finger on it.  
  
“I imagine so.” The Healer smiled benignly, moved around to Severus's side of the bed, and then used his wand to perform a diagnostic on him. “A bit dehydrated, only to be expected. Now that you’re awake, we’ll change your course of potions.” He drew a self-inking quill and some parchment from his robe and made some notes. “We’ll keep on with the restorative, discontinue the elimination spells, change the nutritional potion to a supplement, though I caution you to introduce food slowly.” He looked to Potter for some reason. “You’ll need to start him with liquids—broth and the like—then move on to softer foods. His stomach’s been filled with nothing but potions for quite some time.”  
  
Severus scoffed internally, imagining the quality of potions he’d been subjected to while at the mercy of incompetents.  
  
“Don’t look like that, Severus—they were _your_ brews, from our stores here.” Leaving aside, for now, that he did not know where ‘here’ was, Severus was taken aback that Potter could read him so easily—the boy’s galling use of his name, however, won out over those little mysteries.   
  
The Healer cut him off, before he could tell Potter precisely how he felt about the matter. “I think, Mr. Snape, that I shall leave you in good hands. Take activity slowly—I would, however, like for you to try to get up and move around a bit. A trip to the loo and back should be the goal today, and then increase the length of your journeys, as you feel able.”  
  
Potter went off with the Healer, ostensibly to whatever Floo connection would return the man to the hospital, and Severus took a moment to collect his thoughts. The weakness of his position left him few options—clearly some information gathering was in order before he could formulate a plan.   
  
He'd only meant to rest his eyes, but when he opened them again, the room was darkening and he found that the prescribed trip to the loo had suddenly become a necessity. He searched the gathering gloom for a likely location and found two doors adjacent to one another. Hoping one was a toilet, he successfully pushed off the duvet and swung his legs around to rest on the floor. That simple, ordinary movement nearly sapped his strength, so he rested a moment before attempting to stand.   
  
Standing was a whole new experience as a wave of lightheadedness hit him—he had to grab hold of the wooden bedpost nearest to him in order to remain upright. And he was forced to employ the same technique to complete his journey, grabbing on to various pieces of sturdy furniture along his path and resting periodically before he could continue on his way. The threatening humiliation of wetting himself propelled him just as resolutely as his own stubborn will not to fail.  
  
Thankfully, he picked the correct door, finding a nice-sized, pristine-white en suite with a large claw-footed tub, which Severus looked at longingly, knowing he was not ready for such an exhaustive operation, but wishing for it nonetheless.  
  
He took a moment, when he was finished, to sit down on the commode and gather his strength for the return trip. It was frustrating that something so simple as walking across a room could take on such daunting proportions.  
  
Not terribly re-energized but determined to return to the comfortable bed in the other room, Severus opened the door, and was immediately set-upon by an anxious Potter. "Why didn't you call for me? I'd have helped you."  
  
"I've been successfully relieving myself without assistance for a number of decades now, Potter."  
  
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. At least let me help you back to the bed." He wasn't a fool; as much as it grated to be in need of it, Severus accepted Potter's assistance without a word, noting offhandedly that the boy was taller, and somewhat broader than he'd expected.  
  
By the time he was back in the bed, his energy reserve had been fully depleted. He closed his eyes, thinking his information gathering would have to wait until tomorrow, and slipped instantly into sleep.   
  
He dreamt of his mother, which was truly odd, as he hadn't thought of her in years. She said, "Sleep well, my little Prince," as she'd always done when he was a child, until his father had put an end to it. Strange that he should find comfort in that now—his feelings for his mother had been quite ambivalent when he'd allowed himself to have them at all. Her professed love had not kept her from failing him time and again, yet here she was brushing hair from his forehead and kissing it gently. He sighed, accepting the small comfort, and dreamt no more.  
  
~~**~~  
  
The next two days passed without any further elucidation; Potter was proving to be utterly useless as a source of information. He was amazed by the boy's proficiency at spouting inanities; he nattered nearly non-stop, yet failed to say anything of import.   
  
Severus was now fully apprised: of the current Quidditch happenings; of an ill-conceived union between Weasley and Granger, which Severus thought a bit premature, all things considered; much news of the other Weasley progeny; and something about Longbottom, which Severus could not recall, as the mention of the menace's name had caused him, for the sake of his own sanity, to recoil into himself and mentally recite the formulas for several obscure and extremely complex potions.  
  
What was worse, Severus was becoming accustomed to hearing his name trip so casually out of Potter's mouth. He'd let the boy get away with it for far too long, he knew, but he had to admit to himself, as galling as it was, that he'd done so because he hadn't heard his own name spoken in anything other than a menacing or derisive manner since Albus had done so. He'd rectify the situation—at some point. He couldn’t afford to alienate Potter at the moment; he was going to have to start asking questions, and surely wouldn't receive any answers if the boy felt censured. The challenge was in the asking without giving away his own ignorance—Potter seemed to think Severus was in the know, and he wanted it to stay that way.  
  
On the third such day, Potter's irritating cheerfulness once again preceded him into the room.  
  
"Good morning, Severus!" He opened the curtains, letting in the sunlight.   
  
Severus stood up from the bed and walked over to the tall windows, then closed the long, heavy draperies firmly against the brightness. "I prefer not to be blinded, Potter."  
  
"It's such a pretty day, though. And look, you're up and around—that bodes well." Severus was stunned, however, when the boy sidled up to him, running his hand up Severus's chest, and murmured suggestively, "Feel up to an actual sponge bath today?"  
  
Severus grabbed the boy's upper arms, pushing him away at arms' length.  
  
"Are you on something, Potter? Some sort of hallucinogen?" Severus reached up to check the boy's pupil dilation, when it finally hit him what it was that was off about him—the famous and distinctive scar on his forehead was gone. All that remained was a very faint, white, lightning bolt-shaped line. He pushed Potter farther away, releasing him as he took a step backward, and fear reestablished itself in the pit of his stomach. "Where is your scar?"  
  
The boy grinned broadly. "Gone. When Voldemort fell, it disappeared. So did your Dark Mark. Didn't you notice?"  
  
He pulled up the sleeve of his gray nightshirt and looked at his left forearm; just as the boy had said, the mark was gone. No, no, no, this wasn't real. It was preposterous—the Dark Lord vanquished for good? Impossible at this point, Potter was nowhere near ready to face him, and certainly wouldn't have suddenly become so in the few short months since their last ridiculously one-sided duel.   
  
Good god, what if this was actually some sort of test? Some sort of scenario planned by the Dark Lord to test his loyalty?   
  
Hadn't killing Dumbledore been proof enough? He'd seemed pleased; Severus had clearly been in his favor for the last several months. How could he have been so blind, so absolutely stupid? Had he given anything away, other than letting the boy play nursemaid? He'd let himself become entirely too comfortable in the boy's—No!—this doppelganger's presence. A not-terribly-convincing doppelganger, at that. Time for damage control, even if this wasn't the Dark Lord's doing, something was very wrong with the entire situation.  
  
He scoffed, "The Dark Lord vanquished? Impossible—he is the most powerful wizard alive. Who do you think you're fooling with that nonsense?" And then he demanded, "Who are you?"  
  
"Huh?" Severus had to hand it to him—he looked genuinely perplexed.  
  
"You are not Potter. He's shorter, thinner than you are, and does not address me by my first name. And he most certainly does not make offers of intimate sponge baths—I'd kill him with my bare hands were he to do so. I ask again: who are you?"  
  
The imposter actually acquired a very Potter-esque look of confusion. "What d'you mean? I'm me." Concern replaced confusion, as he asked, "Are you all right, Severus?"   
  
He reached up, as if to check Severus's forehead for a fever, but Severus grabbed his arm, gripping it with force, so there would be no mistaking his objection to the gesture, and snarled, "Do not touch me."   
  
Severus watched as Potter's face transformed into one of dawning understanding and a bit of alarm. "Oh god—you don't remember, do you? You don't know what's happened? But this is crazy! Why didn't you say anything?"  
  
"I will not be interrogated by you. I have no reason to answer your questions." He was beginning to feel on shaky ground—either the man was a brilliant actor, or he was truly distressed.   
  
"Please, Severus, it's important. Just humor me. What _do_ you remember? I mean, you clearly know who you are, and who I am, sort of, but not what's happened recently. So what's your last memory, before your coma? What's your last memory of me?"  
  
Severus was reluctant to cooperate; however, he very much wanted to get to the bottom of this. Oh, how he wished desperately for his wand, and the magic to make it effective! He'd have to dissemble a bit—his last memory of Potter was the message to meet with him. "Very well," he snapped, injecting just enough venom to cover the slight falsehood, "my last memory of Harry Potter is actually most entertaining—I hexed him and sent him soaring into a tree after his pathetic attempt at capturing me."   
  
"But that was nearly three years ago!"  
  
"You expect me to believe that I've somehow _forgotten_ three years of my life? Who the devil are you, and what are you playing at?"  
  
"I am Harry Potter. What can I do to convince you?"  
  
"Nothing, because it isn't true."  
  
"Severus, please. Why are you making this more difficult than it already is?" The look-alike ran his hands through his hair in a frantic manner. "I can't believe you didn't say anything when the Healer was here." He paused, and made a visible effort to control himself. "All right, there must be _something_ that will convince you. Something I know that nobody else would." Pulling at his lower lip, he continued, "Okay... no, that won't work, there were other people around." He muttered to himself a moment more, then announced, "Got it! I know that you are the Half-Blood Prince."  
  
Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest, hoping to appear imperious, rather than defensive. Potter would know that information, but it wasn't enough. "Not convincing. A little research could garner similar information, and Potter likely told Granger and Weasley, or could have easily been careless with the book—it wouldn't surprise me in the least."  
  
The look-alike scowled, "I wasn't!" He began pacing again. "Okay, in my sixth year, the year I found the book, I used one of the spells in it on Draco Malfoy—in a girls' toilet."  
  
That had been a horrific discovery, finding Malfoy the younger, bleeding profusely on a bathroom floor, but still not exclusive. "You'll have to do much better than that, considering the other person involved in that particular incident."  
  
"Right." After a hesitation, he was treated to a much more reluctant attempt. "In my fifth year, you gave me secret Occlumency lessons, and I... I saw a Pensieve memory—of my father and his friends being horrible to you. Rocked my world a bit, actually. Changed how I saw my father. Made me ashamed to be related to him."  
  
He'd been absolutely _livid_ beyond reason after Potter's little foray into his memories; that he'd seen that one, the worst of the bunch, was still irksome—but Potter had told Lupin of the incident, and Lupin had, in turn, begged Severus to reconsider resuming the futile lessons. It wasn't entirely convincing; however, the number and variety of memories—of incidents not widely known—made him less inclined to believe this person was an imposter.   
  
In fact, as all of this information was in his own head, he had to wonder now, if this entire situation weren't a fabrication of his own making. A dream-state maybe, or a nightmare, or, Merlin help him, a Crucio-induced catatonia?   
  
Could he, in reality, be sitting next to Alice Longbottom, dribbling onto his nightshirt?  
  
And what, then, of Potter's sponge bath invitation? He'd never harbored any secret attraction for the boy. It was reprehensible.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"I am not a child molester."   
  
"Good to know. What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
He ignored the boy, thinking aloud. "How do I release myself from the nightmare, then?"  
  
"Severus, what are you talking about?"  
  
"You, this." He gestured to the room at large. "I'm trapped in a hell of my own making, the hell of my own mind. You're a figment, and as such, by offering sexual favors, represent latent pedophilic tendencies, of which I was previously unaware."  
  
" _What_? I'm not a figment. And you're not in a nightmare." Potter tried to grab his arm, but Severus shrugged off the hands. "And I'm certainly not a child—I can assure you that no molesting... well, no _non-consensual_ molesting has ever taken place between us."  
  
Severus was becoming agitated. How did one escape one's own mind?  
  
"Severus?"  
  
It has been said that a person who died in his dreams, would in fact, die in reality. Well, that was one avenue of escape—rather more permanent than he was looking for.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
If he could only determine how he'd come to be in this state, the solution would be much easier to determine.  
  
"SEVERUS!" The boy had placed himself in the path of Severus's agitated pacing and was nearly bowled over for it.  
  
"What are you shouting about, Potter?"  
  
"You are the most infuriatingly stubborn.... Gah!" The boy took a deep breath before gritting out, "Why is it so _easy_ for you to believe that you're suddenly a _pedophile_ trapped in your own mind, and so _hard_ for you to believe that you've just got a bit of amnesia? The idea of being with me might be repulsive to you, I get that, but guess what, Severus?" Potter reached over and pinched Severus's arm—hard. "You're awake! Deal with it!"  
  
Before Severus could respond, Potter had crossed the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving a ringing silence in his wake, but coupled with the startling pinch, it was surprisingly effective at snapping Severus out of what he now recognized as a slight hysteria.  
  
He sank to the bed; his fit had completely drained him, and he could no longer think coherently. Too tired to even feel mortified by his erratic behavior, he lay down, hoping to recoup some energy, so that he might figure out what in the world he was going to do about his predicament.  
  
~~**~~  
  
It was late afternoon when Severus awoke again. Judging by the clock on the mantel, he'd slept several hours and felt somewhat refreshed—enough so that he decided to venture outside of the room. He'd also decided to accept amnesia as the most logical explanation, though he still found it difficult to believe. And now that Potter was aware of his ignorance of current events, it was time to start asking some questions.  
  
There was a wardrobe opposite the bed, and when he opened it, discovered it full of robes and the dressing-gown he'd hoped would be found there. Habit had him reaching blindly into the dark lower shelf to pull out his slippers, and he was both relieved and unsettled to find not only the slippers he sought, but his own familiar worn pair.  
  
Footwear donned, he made his way to the door, half-expecting it to be locked, but it gave easily when he pulled it open. It led to a large hallway lined with doors, and a little investigation found them all to be bedrooms, apart from the linen cupboard he'd discovered at the end of the hall. He moved his search to another level. The ground floor, from what he could discern, contained a large sitting room that appeared to be rarely used, an enormous kitchen, an equally large formal dining room, and a library, which was where he found Potter. He wasn't alone, however.   
  
The door was ajar, so Severus took the opportunity to peek inside. The walls visible from his vantage point were covered with bookshelves, full to bursting from floor to ceiling, and he couldn't be certain from this far away, but a good many of the bindings looked familiar to him. Was this his library? There was a sofa situated in front of a fireplace, which left it facing away from the door, and sitting upon it were Potter and, judging by the large bush of hair, Granger.   
  
As skulking in doorways had become a specialty of his, he applied those skills, thinking he might finally get some answers.  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I pinched him."  
  
"Harry, you didn't! Whatever for?"  
  
"Apparently, the idea of being in some sort of curse-induced nightmare is more appealing than the idea of being with me. I wanted him to know he wasn't dreaming."  
  
"Oh. I see."   
  
"It's not funny." The boy expelled a harsh breath of air. "He doesn't remember the last three years at all, Hermione. After all that we've been through! We're right back to him hating me. What if he doesn’t ever remember? It's not fair! All the bad stuff was supposed to be behind us now." There was a pause in the whinging diatribe, and then Potter asked, "What?"  
  
"Well, if I'd known I was going to be treated to such a drama, I'd've brought some popcorn with me." Severus snorted softly; he'd never known Granger could be so acerbic.  
  
"Hermione!" Potter chuckled, though—a deep, rich sound, and much to Severus's chagrin it played along his nerve endings in a not unpleasant manner. "Between Ron and Severus, you didn't stand a chance, did you?"  
  
Granger produced a soft chuckle of her own, but she spoke in a more serious tone, "I'm sorry. It's just... so many people have lost _so_ much. But both of you are alive and well. It's really a bit difficult to feel bad about that."  
  
"You're right," he sighed, then added, "But just once in my life, couldn't _something_ be easy?"  
  
"I know, Harry. It'll work out, though. You'll see. Even if he doesn't regain his memory, you got together in the first place, it'll happen again."  
  
"That's just the thing—we got together the first time because of the circumstances, I think. We were training, and spending nearly every waking moment together, arguing mostly." The boy paused, seemingly lost in thought. "Did I ever tell you that the first time I kissed him was just to shut him up? I'd wanted to before that, wondered what it would be like, but I thought it would pass—I mean, it was _Snape_." He snorted. "I just couldn't take another word he was spitting at me... it escalated pretty quickly from there." Potter dragged a hand through his already disastrous hair, a gesture Severus was beginning to recognize as a sign of anxiety. "If we have to start all over again, we won't have the war, the tension, the working together that we had the first time."  
  
"But would it even be worth salvaging, then, if a war was the only reason for you to be together?"  
  
"Why do you have to be so damn _practical_?" There was humor in his voice, but another loud sigh followed. "I'm worried about him, too. I can feel the bond trying to reassert itself—and he should as well, once he's stronger."  
  
"Oh dear, I'm sure it'll be disconcerting for him."  
  
"You don't know the half of it. Think about it this way: he called me a child earlier—that's how he thinks of me. I’m a child, and one that he hates, but when he can feel the bond again, he'll be aware of my feelings for him. Not at all childlike or hateful."  
  
Severus was stunned once again—he was bound to the Boy Who Lived? This day continued to become more and more outrageous. He should have learnt his lesson by now that listening at doorways never garnered favorable information. He left the scene as quickly and as quietly as he could manage and sought refuge in his now familiar bedroom. He had a great deal to think about.  
  
By the time Potter knocked on the door, dusk was upon them, darkness gathering in the corners of the room. He entered quietly, and a casual wave of his hand lit the numerous candles and wall-sconces around the room, causing Severus a stab of envy.  
  
He eyed the boy warily, hoping that the most startling revelations for the day had already presented themselves.  
  
The boy himself looked at him in much the same way, before launching into an apology, "I'm sorry, Severus. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did—you're recovering and missing memories, and I need to have more patience." The words were so clearly crafted by Granger it was laughable, but Severus gave a short nod of his head in acceptance.  
  
"The Healer will be here tomorrow afternoon, to have a look at you again. He was coming anyway, but I've Fire-called him to tell him about this new development."  
  
Severus remained reticent; he'd spent a number of hours pondering his situation; trying to wrap his head around it was proving difficult. He could accept a memory loss, but for his life to be so completely foreign was disturbing. He couldn't begin to fathom how or where it had taken such a sharp turn into this bizarre world where the Dark Lord was gone, he lived in a small but elegant manor, and his bondmate was Harry Potter, the most unlikely person on the planet.   
  
Or perhaps not _the most_ unlikely—that honor might actually belong to Severus himself, as he'd never expected to employ the word 'mate' in any capacity with reference to himself.  
  
For a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the stark ticking of the mantel clock. The boy was anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking sheepish and uncertain. He murmured, "This is so stupid; I don't know how to treat you anymore."  
  
Finally breaking his silence, Severus asked, "This house." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "You and I live here... together?"  
  
Potter looked relieved and walked toward the bed where Severus was sitting. He hesitated when he reached it. "May I?"   
  
Another short nod from Severus, and the boy sat on the opposite side of the enormous bed, at the foot of it, then continued, "Yes, this is our home. I actually bought it myself to use as Order headquarters, and a place to crash while chasing Horcruxes. But it ended up working out well for training too." Potter paused, seeming to look inward and then visibly shook himself out of the brief reverie. He gave a small, apologetic smile before continuing, "It's a Muggle property, which is why there are light switches and whatnot—secluded, Unplottable and under Fidelius. We have electricity here, but we use it mostly in the kitchen, and there's a telly in the library. I prefer the candles for light," he added.  
  
Severus made a mental note to look for a wall-switch the next time he used the toilet—he'd only had the light of the moon through the frosted glass window. "What of my house?"  
  
"You kept the house in Spinner's End for appearances, since so many of the Death Eaters knew about it, but we moved most of your things here last year—it was just easier since you were spending all of your time here anyway." Potter shrugged. The candlelight reflected off of his eyeglasses, so Severus couldn't tell if he'd truly meant the casual gesture.  
  
A question burned on his tongue; reluctant to voice it but needing the answer, he asked, "And am I to understand that we are...?" Oh, for pity's sake—he couldn't even say the word.  
  
Potter searched his face for a moment, then seemed to steel himself. "Lovers, yes." He hesitated before continuing, "Look, you need to know—we're bonded, and I don't know when, or to what extent, but you're going to start feeling the connection."  
  
"I see."  
  
"You're taking this awfully well."  
  
Not wanting to give away his earlier eavesdropping, he responded dryly, "It is doubtful that I'd even blink, at this point, if you were to tell me that I've recently decided my new calling in life is to teach Flamenco dancing to trolls." One scenario was just as preposterous as the other.  
  
The boy chuckled lightly, and Severus voiced something he'd considered in his ponderings, "This bond, was it entered into for purely practical reasons?"  
  
"Well, it did allow us to coordinate our efforts without speaking, without Voldemort knowing, and it helped me with my Occlumency, but we were already lovers at that point, if that's what you're asking."  
  
There was enough evasiveness in the delivery to lead Severus to believe he was leaving something out of the explanation. Not to mention, he found it hard to believe he'd agreed to a bonding in the first place. "And I was immediately agreeable to this idea?"  
  
The boy looked away sheepishly, "Not right away, no. You said, 'Why on earth would you choose to—'"  
  
"—saddle yourself for eternity with the likes of me?"  
  
His eyes grew wide, and he said excitedly, "Yes! You remember?"  
  
"No, but it is precisely what I was thinking." And it was comforting for Severus to know that he'd at least remained himself in that way.  
  
Potter, however, did not appear to find comfort in that knowledge; his disappointment was palpable—he looked away from Severus, staring at the candles as if they held the answer to this absurd situation.  
  
There was something about the intimacy of a candlelit room; it was leading Severus's thoughts down a path he'd rather not tread, but couldn't avoid any longer. He'd apparently had sexual relations with this boy. It was an activity in which he had not engaged for many years by choice, and it had proved a wise decision during that time. That he'd broken his self-imposed celibacy with anyone was incredible, let alone with this particular boy. And that was truly how he thought of him—a mere boy.   
  
Best to put an end to that sort of thinking as soon as possible; he couldn't live with himself otherwise.   
  
He took a moment to study Potter, and tried to do so without his preconceived notions. The hair was still an untamed tangle of black, though a little longer than he remembered him wearing it. The round eyeglasses had been replaced with a more angular design that better suited the shape of his face, and accentuated high cheekbones that Severus had never before noticed.   
  
He'd always looked at the boy with half an eye, seeing only his father when he bothered to do so. He had to admit now, though, in this confessional atmosphere, that Potter had grown out of his father's striking resemblance—he could see Evans in his features more clearly, as if finally acknowledging them had caused them to form into that shape before his very eyes. And the resulting combination was actually a rather striking young man with a look all his own. No, not a boy any longer—he wondered how long that had been the case.  
  
Unwilling to get tangled up in the confusion that seeing Potter with new eyes caused him, he plunged ahead with their conversation. "Clearly, I was not sold on the idea—what changed my mind?"  
  
Potter looked at him a moment, seeming to weigh his words, and then answered in a voice that Severus now noticed was indeed deeper than he recalled, "I'm not certain, actually; I guess because I told you my own reason for wanting to do it."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
Sheepish again, he continued, "You, er, didn't take it well the first time. I don't think you're ready to hear it again just now."  
  
Severus didn't say anything, leaving it alone; he could only imagine what it'd been and, for now, would take Potter's word for it regarding his own reaction.  
  
Moving the conversation along, Severus finally asked the question he most wanted answered, and most dreaded having answered. "What has happened to my magic?"  
  
"Your magic? What d'you mean?"  
  
"I mean, where has it gone? Why can I not access it?"  
  
"D'you not have any at all?"  
  
In demonstration, he concentrated on the nearest candle and said, " _Nox_." And as before, absolutely nothing happened.  
  
"Oh god, Severus, I had no idea. Why didn't you say anything?" Potter stopped and looked hard at him, and then rolled his eyes, putting a hand up to halt him. "Wait, don't answer that. But it must have been frightful for you...." He was thoughtful for a moment. "The Healer said that there would likely be some temporary loss—he never said it would be gone completely. Try it with this." He pulled his wand out of his sleeve, handing it to Severus handle first. "Yours was destroyed in the battle, but we'll get you a new one as soon as you're up to it."  
  
He accepted the wand with a bit of reverence—the implicit trust in that gesture was overwhelming; one did not just simply relinquish one's wand to another wizard in such a manner. Almost immediately, Severus could feel the flow of magic, it was weak, but it was there, just requiring the focus of a wand. " _Nox_."  
  
The target candle flickered briefly, and Severus was prepared to settle for even that little bit, but then the flame was finally snuffed. Relief in enormous proportions filled him, at the same time a wave of exhaustion settled over him for his efforts. It had been worth it, however—he was not devoid of magic after all.  
  
Potter beamed at him, and then, to Severus's great surprise, squeezed his lower leg. "See, it's temporary. The Healer said it would return a bit at a time. You were completely drained in the battle. Actually..." Potter looked away again, and seemed to be weighing something, before continuing, "You fed your power into me, so I could get close enough to Voldemort and use the sword to finish him. I used your _Sectumsempra_ curse on him—it distracted him long enough; he didn't know the counter-curse and I suppose he would have bled to death eventually, but..." He trailed off and then paused, looking pained. "I don’t think I'll ever forget the sound he made… that scream." He shuddered, reminding Severus about the hand still on his leg, warm and strong, even through the duvet.  
  
Not accustomed to casual touches, Severus slid his leg out from underneath that hand, though the heat remained like a brand on his leg. He was too tired to think about what that might mean, or how it was, exactly, that he'd managed to _feed_ his magic into Potter. He had no need to feign the yawn that he gave, signaling the end of the conversation.   
  
Potter looked uncertain again, but he rose from his seat, and then leant over the bed. For one brief, heart-pounding moment, in which he was suspended half in horror and half in anticipation, Severus was certain Potter was going to kiss him. Confused by his own reactions, he promised himself that he was absolutely _not_ disappointed when Potter gently tugged his wand out of Severus's grasp instead. "I'll let you get some sleep. I've been, er, sleeping in the adjoining room—that door there, next to the loo—if you need anything."   
  
He was halfway across the room, when he turned. "Severus, I—" He closed his eyes briefly, and simply said, "Good night."  
  
Severus felt the smallest twinge of guilt at having displaced him, but it was apparently his bed too, and he could not fathom sharing it with Potter—however large it might be, it was certainly not big enough for that. The matter itself wasn't something that he wished to think about, much less discuss, but even if it were, he did not have the energy for it at the moment. He slipped almost immediately into sleep.  
  
 _The boy had been careless again, and Severus seethed as he healed the gash on Potter's cheek for the third time, leaving him to repair his own eyeglasses, which had gone flying during the duel.  
  
Severus pushed him away roughly, and unleashed his invective. "Mr. Potter, if you are preparing to die, then congratulations are in order—clearly you are ready. Otherwise, you would have managed a decent shield by now, your hexes would be much more than_ pathetic _, and you would have found it within yourself to_ shut…your… mouth _when casting. However, all of these basic skills continue to elude you. You are wasting my time, and your own. If you are so eager to be dead, then I suggest we present you to the Dark Lord forthwith and be done with it, then the rest of us can get on with whatever hellish nightmare awaits us, rather than prolonging the ag—"  
  
He was cut off abruptly as a pair of lips attached themselves to his mouth.   
  
Potter was kissing him?   
  
Potter was kissing him.  
  
The attempt was clumsy, but the effect was warm and heady. He wanted to sink into it, but couldn't allow himself to do so. Instead, he grabbed two fistfuls of the boy's shirt, twisted to the side, and shoved him forcefully against the wall that was now behind him, breaking his mouth away from Potter's.   
  
The boy's breathing was uneven and hot on Severus's face, and his eyes were shining in the dim light of the long-abandoned out-building that now served as their training room.   
  
"You'd better be serious, Potter—I don't play games."  
  
Instead of recoiling or retreating, the boy, forever contrary to logic and clearly lacking basic self-preservation instincts, grabbed onto Severus's shoulders, pushing back against the wall, levering himself up so that his legs could wrap around Severus's middle.  
  
Foiled by his own plan, Severus sucked in a breath. There'd been something building between them for months, something that Severus had not dared to examine closely—if at all—but here was Potter, pressing what felt like a sizable erection into Severus's own traitorous cock. He took a deep uneven breath, trying to regain control of his body. It was preposterous, the boy was quite literally_ half _his age, and beyond that, Severus did not indulge in such things.  
  
But, oh, how good it felt to have a warm body pressed against his: _ this _young, attractive, willing body in particular—the bane of his existence, the cause of sometimes-unbearable tension, and to his shame, recent fodder for the fantasies he normally very rigorously denied himself.  
  
Potter moved his hips experimentally. "Doesn't feel like a game... _ Severus. _"  
  
The exquisite friction became secondary to the sound of his name pouring from those impudent lips—it flowed sensuously down his back like warm honey. Their years of bitter history, the months of arduous training, the isolation, and general futility of their efforts all fell away, and he was powerless to resist the sensation, powerless against that mouth now begging to be taken.   
  
And take he did, closing the short distance between them, damning the consequences, and capturing Potter's lush mouth with his own, devouring it hungrily. Potter gasped and clung tightly to him, and Severus took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into the hot, wet heat, twining with Potter's eager tongue.  
  
One nonverbal spell and they were divested of their clothing. Severus gazed at the boy's... no, he'd have to stop that. It'd been safer to think of him that way, despite his libidinous dreams of late, but this was no boy wrapped around him; a rich, seductive voice, stubble on his chin, broad shoulders, neat compact torso with just the right sprinkling of dark hair dissecting it, breathing harsh with desire and anticipation, and a luscious cock, red and full, and Severus wanted to taste it—but that was for another time.   
  
Another spell had Potter sucking in a sharp breath, then moaning in pleasure, his eyes momentarily glazing over as it did its work, preparing him.   
  
Severus silenced him with a searing kiss, and Potter began a delicious frottage, their hard flesh sliding together, and Severus knew he could wait no longer. He was nearing the point of no return; looking into the brilliant green eyes, he demanded gruffly, "Tell me you want this."  
  
"I do! I want this. I want you, Severus. Inside me," he said in a desperate, pleading growl.   
  
Receiving approval and invitation, Severus wrapped his arms around Potter's legs, cradling his firm arse, and hoisted him up just a little higher on the wall, then guided his prick blindly, rubbing the head over the puckered entrance before slipping inside the unbelievable heat.  
  
He knew the second he'd breached the tight ring of muscle—the look on Potter's face said it all, and Severus cursed his impulsiveness, cursed his libido for stealing vital blood from his brain. Potter was in pain, and surprised to be so, and if Severus had been thinking, he'd have known that Potter, at just eighteen, likely had no real experience.   
  
He couldn't stop now._ What's done is done, _he thought grimly.  
  
It was all he could do, however, not to thrust wildly into that tight channel firmly embracing the head of his throbbing cock. His muscles shook with the strain of resistance. "Potter, bear down against my efforts."  
  
Potter was lost in the pain; his teeth were gritted against it, sweat on his brow plastering hanks of black hair to his face—his once fully erect penis now flaccid between them. Severus took a deep breath to calm himself, and then another for good measure.   
  
"Harry, listen to me." Use of his given name got his attention; the green eyes were wet, but determined and Severus continued, "Bear down against my efforts; it will ease the way for you."  
  
A nod was his only answer, but Potter obeyed and after an agonizingly slow moment, Severus was fully sheathed, and he wanted to sob at the absolute perfection of it. He waited still—aching to move—for Potter to give some indication that he'd become accustomed to the sensation and was ready for more. "Can you help hold yourself up?"  
  
Potter nodded again, firming his grip on Severus's shoulders and, ever so slightly and deliciously, tightened his muscled thighs around Severus's middle. Letting go of Potter's arse, he used his right hand to take hold of Potter's reawakening cock, stroking it until Potter whimpered, this time in pleasure, "Please, Severus, I need..."   
  
He didn't say what, but Severus knew, even if Potter didn't, and he finally did what his body had been screaming for him to do. He started with slow shallow thrusts, gauging Potter's reaction, timing his stroking hand to match. Potter's prick was back to full hardness and he was lost again, this time in pleasure, moaning, and then answering Severus's increasingly more enthusiastic thrusts. And finally Severus felt free to abandon himself to the bliss, stroking Potter harder and faster until the moan became a hoarse shout, "Severus! Oh! Severus!" his release slick between them.   
  
The convulsive tightening around Severus's cock was the final push into ecstasy. He thrust once, then twice more, finally pumping his own release into that tight perfection, knowing he'd never be able to relinquish this, knowing that no one else had ever seen Potter like this. No one had ever before caused that response, those noises, that sweet transition from pain to pleasure. He'd been given a gift of something entirely pure, and he claimed it with a brutal possessive kiss, determined to let Harry know that he was_ his _now and no one else's._  
  
Severus awoke with a start, panting—arousal and denial warring within him, equally violent in their struggle. He sat up and rubbed a hand wearily over his face.   
  
Had it been memory or horrifying fantasy?   
  
He did not allow himself fantasies—they distracted, and distractions could be deadly in his world; however, were he to indulge in them, he was certain they could not have been nearly as vivid. He could still taste Potter's mouth, could recall the feel of his hot breath whispering over his skin, the exquisite pleasure of sliding into his heat.  
  
He scrubbed a hand over his face once more. All of this left him with one conclusion: he'd actually taken Potter's innocence. It was unconscionable.  
  
 _Harry initiated it, though_. A voice inside of him, sounding oddly like Dumbledore's, argued. _He clearly wanted it; you did offer him the chance to say 'no'. And he chose not to disclose that he had never before done such a thing._  
  
Severus scoffed. That was hardly the point. He'd taken the boy against a wall, for pity's sake. That was a hell of an initiation into sex.  
  
 _It was good, better than you've ever had before._ Arousal was winning the struggle—it _had_ been good, incredible even. Severus was disgusted with himself and his suddenly overactive libido. Clearly his body recalled Potter as a lover, even if his mind was still shocked and somewhat disbelieving.  
  
 _What's done is done_. Truly. And so, he could not change the past. But he was not an animal, and did not have to bow to the will of his cock. He denied his burgeoning erection the pleasure of release, pounded the pillow for good measure, then fell into a very restless sleep.  
  
~~**~~  
  
The next morning was not a good one for Severus. Potter was driving him to distraction. He'd been perfectly content in his ignorance, having never taken note of the young man's physical attributes. After that blasted dream, however, he found himself 'noticing' Potter at every turn.   
  
The way the infernal and ever-present Muggle denim trousers clung to his arse—an arse Severus now knew was firm and just round enough to fit very nicely in his hands. The way the dove gray tee shirt stretched taut over broad shoulders and what he now knew to be a very nicely defined and mostly hairless chest.  
  
Potter flitted in and out of his room all morning long, and Severus began to think he was deliberately tempting him in some sort of mad seduction play that involved trays of food and doses of potion.  
  
It was irritating, and arousing, and completely absurd. And he couldn't very well relieve his aching prick, which he'd been fighting since he'd awoken, only semi-successfully, with Potter's nearly constant and generally unannounced presence in the room with him.  
  
He pranced into the room, once again unannounced, this time bringing in tow what appeared to be a Healer in bright green robes. They were laughing like old friends, and Severus bristled at the sound.  
  
"Good afternoon, Mr. Snape. I'm Healer Khanchandani." Severus raised an eyebrow and inspected the man—he was young, too young for a Healer, in Severus's opinion—darkly handsome, almost beautiful in his graceful comportment. Although he appeared to be of an age that would have seen him pass through Severus's dungeons, he did not recognize him; he must not have attended Hogwarts—schooled in India, perhaps. The man smiled widely at him—too widely for Severus's taste—showing beautiful, straight white teeth that gleamed in contrast with his smooth café au lait complexion.   
  
Severus immediately loathed the man, who continued to carry on a conversation despite Severus's sneering silence. "I was part of the team of Healers that provided care for you while you were in hospital. Harry tells me that you're experiencing some memory loss."   
  
When he didn't answer, Potter cut in, "Yes, he can't remember the last three years, more or less." He sent Severus a questioning look behind the Healer's back, to which Severus responded with a withering one of his own.  
  
"This is not entirely unexpected. You suffered a critical drain of your resources, magical and otherwise. Quite frankly, it's astounding that you've recovered so well—we thought we were going to lose you once or twice when you were first brought to us."  
  
"His magic is barely there, too, Jonathan," Potter added, and Severus shot him another withering glare, which seemed to bounce off of the brat without any ill-effect—apparently the loss of his magic wasn't the only weakness he was suffering.  
  
"That's only to be expected." The Healer waved his wand over Severus chest, near his heart. "You've been trying to use magic, haven't you, Mr. Snape? Your resources are extremely low, more so than the last diagnostic. I suggest that you do not attempt to use magic at all for a while longer—we'll check the levels again during our next visit." Severus began mentally listing the ways in which he would make the pompous, arrogant, condescending _Healer_ pay, once his magic was returned to full strength, rather than expending the energy it would cost him to verbally flay the idiot alive.  
  
As Severus refused to participate in the conversation, the Healer continued his diagnostic, this one a little more thorough than the other Healer had done, and the two young men carried on as if Severus were another piece of furniture in the room. Their friendly, flirtatious banter grated on Severus's nerves; by the time the Healer was making his way toward the Floo, Severus was seething.  
  
Potter returned and demanded, "What the hell is wrong with you? He can't do his job properly if you refuse to speak with him."  
  
"Oh, yes, he's very professional. Doing his job, as you say. Tell me, Potter, when exactly did it become customary to refer to one's Healer as ' _Jonathan_ '?"  
  
"When it's his _name_?" Potter took a deep calming breath before continuing, "Jonathan was very kind and supportive to me while you were in your coma. I saw him everyday for two months while I waited and worried, not knowing if you'd ever wake up. He helped me get through that; he's a good friend."  
  
Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "I'll wager he was. A good _friend_ with no ulterior motives whatsoever, I'm certain."  
  
"What!? Ulterior...?" Potter stopped, awareness seemed to dawn across his face, and he grinned that fool grin of his, looking inordinately pleased about something. "You're jealous!"   
  
"I am no such thing." He wasn't. He couldn't be.  
  
"You are!" The grin intensified, and Severus wanted to hide from its warmth. "Severus, I swear to you that Jonathan is nothing more than a friend."  
  
"Get. Out!" he gritted between clenched teeth. Then realizing how desperate that sounded, he added, "I wish to be alone."  
  
Still looking rather too pleased, Potter said, "All right, I'll go." He turned toward the door, then back again. "You know, Severus, you haven't snarled at me in so long—I didn't realize how much I missed it."  
  
He let Potter have the last word, just to get him out of the room.  
  
Was he jealous? It was outrageous. The implications were absolutely ridiculous. Jealousy meant attachment, and Severus Snape most certainly did not form attachments. It was the hardest learned lesson of his childhood—reinforced twice now since then, as both attachments he'd allowed himself in that time had ended badly: one had died trying to be a hero while Severus had been too fearful to assist, and the other... the other he'd been forced to kill.  
  
No, he was most decidedly not _jealous_.   
  
With that settled, he rolled over, hoping to make up for some of the sleep he'd lost the previous night, and fell into another restless slumber.  
  
~~**~~

  
The following weeks saw a marked increase in Severus's physical strength, and although he was itching to test his magic, he'd kept to the continuously prescribed action of 'no magic whatsoever'. He still limited his journeys outside of the bedroom, due more to a certain level of comfort than anything else, but he'd found a veritable treasure trove in the library—his own well-worn volumes were there, mingled with other works that he'd never seen.  
  
He surveyed the room around him with no small amount of satisfaction, feeling a bit like the master of his own domain... such as it was. The bedroom was now littered with piles of books, and it finally felt a bit more like home.   
  
A knock on the door, a novelty certainly, drew his attention from the four books spread open around him on the bed; though, he noticed Potter didn't deign to wait for an answer.  
  
"Severus—" He stopped short, looking around the room in wonder. "Wow. Like what you've done with the place." Potter grinned, then asked more seriously, "You didn't carry these all up here on your own, did you? They weren't here yesterday."  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow at the man, reluctant to dignify such an idiotic question with an answer, but he supposed that Potter might as well know the truth. He returned his eyes to his reading before saying, "No, I did not. I caught the villain red-handed this time, and made _him_ do it."  
  
Potter chuckled—a sound that was beyond irritating to Severus strictly because it wasn't irritating at all. "Ah. Well, that explains his behavior today, then. But why so many of them?"  
  
Severus fought to keep the sheepishness he felt from creeping into his expression. "Apparently, house-elves are quite literal." Expanding the explanation when Potter stood looking bemusedly at him, he sighed, "I ordered him to bring me the books he'd removed from my rooms—meaning these four here." He gestured to the tomes spread before him.  
  
Potter took up the story, catching on to it. "And Dobby brought _all_ of the books he's been returning to the library." The infernal chuckle turned into true laughter, and Severus found that it too was irritating for its not-irritating quality... and that it was contagious. He snorted before he could stop himself and they shared the mirth of the moment briefly.  
  
Wiping at his eyes, Potter sighed in a satisfied manner, then said, "Well, it looks more comfortable now anyway, doesn't it? I didn't realize how much I'd missed tripping over books on the floor."   
  
The smile on Potter's face was wistful, yet almost bittersweet, and it created an inexplicable warmth within Severus. He cleared his throat before voicing his agreement, "It is quite satisfactory, yes."  
  
"Good." Potter seemed to shake off the sudden mood, and continued more brightly. "Well, I actually came here because I have a surprise. I owe you an apology first, because I can't believe that I'd not thought of showing this to you sooner."  
  
Working his head around the change of subject, Severus eyed Potter warily, but he seemed earnest enough. "Show me what?"  
  
"You'll see. Follow me." Just curious enough to be prompted into action, Severus did just that, following Potter through the house to the kitchen.  
  
Apparently, he'd been incorrect in his earlier assessment of the ground floor—it wasn't the ground floor after all. Potter led him through the spacious kitchen to a door, which, when opened, gave one the sense of standing at the threshold of the past, incongruously surrounded by the modern Muggle appliances and décor of the room. Cool, somewhat damp air wafted gently out of the opened portal; he peered into it, noting a set of stone steps leading downward into a darkened, unknown space below.   
  
Potter smiled broadly at him and said, "Ready?"  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow, wondering at the dramatic build up, but simply nodded his agreement, and Potter led the way down into the darkness. Three steps into the journey, and torches sprang to life, shedding light on their destination. At the bottom of the steps Severus took in the room, and like nearly everything else he'd encountered since awakening, he did not recognize it. However, unlike nearly everything else, he could see himself everywhere he looked, and for the first time since the beginning of this ordeal, felt truly at home.   
  
A long wooden trestle table sat in the middle of the space, the perfect height for his purposes. An enormous stone fireplace contained an equally enormous cauldron on a swing arm, and a number of other cauldrons of varying size and composition were stacked neatly on the hearth. And a shelf that ran the length of the far wall contained what appeared to be his own Potions texts, periodicals and reference books.   
  
"It was the kitchen a long time ago, of course, but it was a natural space for your brewing." Potter seemed to be gauging his reactions. Half ignoring the man, Severus fingered the orderly instruments: the large, green marble mortar and pestle, and the smaller Wedgwood; his leather-bound logbook; the quills and inkpots; his favorite scales (which he'd given up for gone after his flight from Hogwarts). He marveled at the rush of _self_ that seeing the tidy workbench had provided him, and was nearly overwhelmed with the relief of it, though he kept his features carefully neutral.   
  
"The torches are charmed to light whenever you enter the room, so you won't have to use magic for that. There's a cook's pantry over here that now contains your stores." Peering inside, Severus noted that the glass-front cabinets, opposite the scullery, contained neat rows of carefully labeled stock potions, several of which were seriously depleted, and mentally rubbed his hands together in glee, anticipating several days of brewing ahead of him, as soon as his magic had returned full-force.   
  
Sad what his life had come to that he should be so eager to brew such rudimentary potions, but there it was.   
  
And that sour thought did nothing to diminish his anticipation of the task.  
  
Severus followed Potter on a quick tour of the labyrinth that was the ground floor, finding nothing more exciting than utility rooms, such as a former laundry with four enormous tubs and an elaborate rope system strung across one half of the room—presumably for drying purposes. Until he reached a door that Potter opened with a small amount of reverence, behind which, was an extensive wine cellar. He made note of some excellent labels and vowed to himself that he'd come back soon to investigate more thoroughly.  
  
Once back in the main room, Potter hoisted himself up onto the workbench, hands gripping the edge, long legs dangling, and something about that posture was familiar. So much so that Severus knew, without actual recall, that Potter had sat there in just that manner many times before; he certainly seemed comfortable enough perched on the trestle table. Severus fished around for a specific memory but came up empty handed.  
  
Breaking into his efforts, Potter hesitantly asked, "Do you think you'd be okay on your own for a while? A few hours at most, I should think."  
  
"Potter, I've survived quite effectively for many years without a minder; I believe I can manage a single evening without your company."  
  
"Don't be an arse, Severus. I know you don't need a minder; I just didn't want to leave you alone if you're not up to it—it's called 'being considerate'. I've been putting this off…" Potter trailed off, looking as if he'd said more than he'd meant to. Severus was both curious, and, quite maddeningly, somewhat anxious to know that Potter seemed to be hiding something.   
  
He merely raised an eyebrow in question, seeking elaboration, and Potter relented, saying sheepishly, "I have a committee meeting."  
  
"A committee meeting," Severus repeated dryly. "Do not tell me that the Ministry has a new poster-boy in you, Potter." He did nothing to restrain the smirk that formed on his lips.  
  
Defiant now, Potter responded, "I knew you'd react this way. Yes, a _committee_ meeting, and no, it's not that sort of committee. It's a group of private investors; we're trying to revive the economy and rebuild Diagon Alley." Something indecipherable passed over his face before he continued, "I don't think the Ministry would benefit much from my endorsement. It's already in a shambles, but there are a lot of people who feel that I should've done in Voldemort a lot sooner than I did."  
  
Severus found himself in a position in which he'd never thought to be, as he suddenly felt compelled to _comfort_ Potter—before he could stop himself, he said, "Although I do not recall the circumstances, I feel certain that the Dark Lord was 'done in', as you say, at precisely the correct moment."  
  
Potter's face brightened a bit as he said, "Thanks for saying so. The _Prophet_ thinks otherwise, though, which means most other people do too." He looked away then, and not for the first time, Severus was certain something was being left unsaid.  
  
Choosing not to pursue it, he instead responded, "The weak minded are often easily influenced by the news media. Your story will, no doubt, be relegated to a back page and soon forgotten, when something more salacious occupies their small minds."   
  
Severus could have kicked himself; there was a time, not so very long ago in Severus's recollection, that he would have relentlessly, and quite gleefully, used that information to attack Potter. Now he was comforting him instead. Though, after a moment's reflection on the uncharacteristic action, he found the ease with which he'd offered the comfort to be much more disturbing. When had he gone so soft that his instinct was not to snidely decimate, but rather to dole out consolation and encouraging platitudes?   
  
Merlin help him, he was barely a step away from bidding strangers a 'pleasant afternoon' or some rot—and what should he care if some idiot's afternoon were pleasant or not?  
  
Potter smiled gratefully and hopped down from the trestle table, blissfully unaware of Severus's revelation, and probable mental crisis. "As long as you'll be all right on your own for a while, I'm going to head out."  
  
Adding insult to Severus's already injured pride, he thought for moment that Potter was going to kiss him upon departure, and once again denied that he felt disappointed for that not to have been the case.  
  
As Potter made his way up the stone stairs, Severus decided to put the entire business out of his mind by reaching for his logbook, to get a feel for his recent brewing history, when he felt a jolt and the world seemed to fade away. He gripped the edge of the table, as a new memory flooded his senses.  
  
 _The satisfaction of a tidy workspace was settling nicely over him, but as he reached for his logbook, he suddenly felt a hand stroking him. It was remarkable, though he'd never admit it to Potter, the boy's newfound precision and stealth with regard to Apparation.  
  
He let Potter invade his robes, and had to grab hold of the table edge when he felt his now interested cock slip into the moist heat of Potter's mouth. It was tempting to let Potter have his way with him, but Severus had had a notion that he wanted to put into action, and he would need that burgeoning erection eventually.  
  
He reached under the table and touched Potter's head. "Potter, stop that and come up here, I have a better idea."  
  
Potter hesitated, then renewed his efforts, humming his argument, and Severus was almost overcome by the sensation. He didn't surrender—this was now a battle of wills, a common one, of late, which was rooted in Severus's refusal to address the young man by his given name. This particular tactic was a new one, however.  
  
"Potter, cease and desist, this instant," he gritted out, though it was an effort.  
  
The irritating brat hummed again, and Severus lost his resolve. He'd learned from his years of teaching, and more importantly, from his months of intimacy with Potter, that one had to choose one's battles. This one he chose to stand down.  
  
"Harry, please stop," he panted. Potter did so immediately. He crawled out from underneath the table and lifted himself to sit on top of it, arranging it so that the long dangling legs flanked Severus, then hooked behind him, pulling Severus closer.   
  
"See, Severus, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Too smug by half, but Severus didn't argue the point. _ Irritating _and_ cheeky _, he thought to himself.  
  
"Mr. Potter," he began, and a pouting lip formed on the face before him, "I intend to introduce you to something today. Something I've only ever done for one other person. Are you game?"  
  
Despite the pout, Potter looked intrigued, and although he'd never confess to falling sway to such childish tactics, Severus couldn't resist the protruding lip any longer, capturing it between his own, sucking on it, then dragging his teeth lightly across it as he released it back to its owner.  
  
Potter answered Severus's earlier posed question by tightening the legs around him, then he reached up, wrapping his arms around Severus's neck and pulling him downward to press his mouth against Severus's with urgency.   
  
Severus let him lead, willingly giving the demanding lips what they sought, and lost himself, for a moment, in the hunger and heat of it. He took control after a few moments, breaking the kiss off, earning a moaning protest from Potter. "I can assure you, what I have in mind will be worth it."  
  
"All right, then. What are we doing?" There was a challenge in the green eyes and Severus took up the gauntlet.  
  
"Stand, Potter. And drop your trousers," Severus commanded, moving back to give the man room to comply, which was done with a satisfying alacrity.  
  
"Now what?" He should have looked ridiculous, trousers around his ankles, hands on hips, shirt falling just short of his semi-erect prick, but Potter looked delicious instead, and Severus intended to find out if looks could tell.  
  
He knew his own appeal had its limitations, but he also knew that he possessed no greater weapon than his voice, whether the battle a debate or one of a sexual variety, and Severus used that weapon now. "Turn around, Mr. Potter. And bend over."  
  
It had the desired effect—Severus saw Potter shiver in anticipation and watched his cock twitch at the sound, just before he followed the orders to perfection.  
  
Severus took in the view and wondered how he'd lived forty years without seeing this, without having this opportunity so generously splayed before him, lying across his solid wooden trestle table. Noticing too, not for the first time, that this young man, so willing, so generous, reminded him strongly of another young man he'd been fortunate enough to know in this manner.  
  
Sacrificing his robes to the cold, stone floor, he muttered a spell for warmth and cushion—his knees were not as young as they once were. He then ran his hands along the firm, round cheeks and down the back of the equally firm thighs, gently pushing them farther apart, until Potter took the hint and stepped out of the trousers pooled around his ankles, spreading his feet wider.  
  
Taking it slowly, he kissed one cheek, running his hands along the inside of Potter's thighs, then kissed the other. He continued the light caressing with his fingers, tracing along Potter's perineum, an area of the body that Severus felt was particularly underrated and undervalued—such a lovely, warm spot—and reminded himself to pay it more attention. He used both hands to spread the cheeks, exposing the pink pucker, and then blew on it gently.  
  
Potter had been making appreciative little noises, but he inhaled sharply when the warm breath met such an intimate spot. Severus planted a small kiss there, then watched as Potter's sphincter muscle worked, tightening, and relaxing reflexively.   
  
Then he plunged in earnest, running his moistened tongue over the small hole, licking and nipping gently at the wrinkled pink flesh in a circular fashion. He breathed in Potter's unique musk and it drove him on, as he lapped faster and more forcefully.   
  
"Oh god, Severus… you're…Oh god!" Potter's declarations slowly degenerated from astonishment into incoherent babbling. But when Severus breached the tight ring of muscle with his tongue, Potter howled in approval, pressing back into Severus's face, forcing Severus's thrusting tongue deeper into the heat.  
  
Suddenly, it wasn't enough. Severus gave one more thrust, swirling his tongue, using the same technique as he pulled out of Potter's glorious, truly delicious arse, and then got to his feet.   
  
Ignoring Potter's whinging protests, he dropped his own trousers, releasing his aching cock, and pushed slowly into the thoroughly lavished hole, grabbing ahold of Potter's hip with his left hand and his stiff prick with his right. Potter's whinge turned into more enthusiastic noises, letting Severus know he was in complete agreement with the abrupt change of plans.   
  
He pulled them both upright, wrapping his left arm around Potter's middle, pressing them flush against one another. He latched onto an exposed patch of neck, sucking and licking the spot. Timing his stroking hand to his hip movement, Severus managed to thrust in and out of the tight channel several times before Potter's orgasm tightened around him, sending Severus careening over the edge into blissful release.  
  
Severus thanked whatever force of nature allowed him to continue to hold them both up, as he slowly caught his breath. Potter leaned bonelessly against him and said simply, "Wow."  
  
He buried his nose in the downy hair at the nape of Potter's neck and wondered, as he inevitably did in quiet moments such as this, what strange mandate of fate had allowed this to happen, had allowed Severus this immeasurable and entirely unexpected pleasure in his life. _  
  
The wooden table swam into focus and Severus released his death-grip on the edge of it. Out of breath, he inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, trying to regain his equilibrium. Just as before, the memory lingered, causing Severus to relive the scent, the feel, and the taste of the moment.   
  
It was overwhelming, and Severus's abused senses had reached their limit. He did the only thing he could—he grabbed the logbook as he'd intended, and fled the lab, hoping to escape the sensation, knowing he would not.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Severus paced the length of the bedroom in agitation, though he managed to carefully side-step the teetering piles of books in his path. While it was just as disturbing as the first for its sexual content, this new memory was a troubling one.  
  
Actually, now that he thought of it, both of the memories had been significant for reasons beyond the obvious.  
  
The first memory had told him loud and clear that Potter had managed to get under his skin thoroughly enough that Severus had cast aside his decades-long, and very rigorously followed celibacy. He'd fairly _claimed_ the boy—just short of branding him, for pity's sake—with an uncommon possessiveness.   
  
There was no denying the implications of it. Severus had very much appreciated the freedom that the strict celibacy had allowed him and had never once been tempted to break it in the past, no matter what enticing fruit had been dangled before him. He'd found no small amount of pride in his self-control.   
  
Something about Potter had changed all that.  
  
That knowledge led him to his most recent memory. Seeing Potter, displayed as he was, had brought to mind another young man, one who'd received the same treatment—Regulus Black.   
  
Regulus had the rather dubious honor of being the only person for whom Severus had ever cared. That is, apart from Dumbledore, who'd been mentor and friend, and who'd been there for him after Reg had been killed, picking up the pieces of Severus's shattered life, protecting him from the Trials when it had all gone pear-shaped, and giving him a purpose, giving him the chance to atone for his earlier poor choices.   
  
Severus made every effort to avoid thinking about him, but there was no denying the similarities between this _adult_ Potter and Regulus Black—not only their physical attributes, but also certain inner qualities that set them apart from the crowd. A deliciously dark and dry sense of humor, foolishly heroic, nauseatingly noble, loyal to a fault—Reg had, in fact, confessed to Severus, in a tone that indicated he'd been prepared for Severus's disgust, that the Sorting Hat had tried to place him in Gryffindor, but he'd adamantly refused, desperate not to disappoint his parents the way his brother had.   
  
Because of Severus's current situation, the similarities were most disturbing.  
  
Thinking of Reg always dredged up long buried emotions, which generally muddled his customary clear thinking. Throwing Potter into that mix caused him a unique sort of confusion—confusion on an emotional level that Severus had been certain he'd long ago sealed off completely.  
  
Reg had cared about Severus as no one else ever had, and Severus had let him down in a way that was unforgivable. He'd allowed his own cowardice to keep him from helping Reg, and Reg had paid the ultimate price for it. Severus lived every moment of every day after that event, trying to recompense for it, knowing that he never could. Turning spy for Dumbledore had seemed only a small penance. His dedication to that pursuit had driven him relentlessly—it was the very reason that he'd become so enraged when Potter had called him a coward.   
  
He supposed that was neither here nor there now; that incident with Potter had not happened months ago as he remembered, but three years ago.  
  
Potter. Severus sighed loudly, though it did nothing to ease the situation—he was at a loss as to what to do about it and found it vexing beyond measure. His attraction to Potter was growing daily, and he'd like nothing more than to blame it on the bond of which Potter had spoken. However, there had been no hint of it on his part, no sensation of anything trying to connect to Potter—outside of his own stirred up libido, that is.  
  
The matter was wholly… _uncomfortable_.  
  
Severus stopped his pacing and sank down onto the bed, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily. He couldn't think about it any longer—there'd been no enlightenment gained; rather, it seemed thinking about it was only serving to further cloud the issue.  
  
The logbook lay nearby, on the bed where he'd thrown it upon entering the room. It called to him now; the dry, logical data listed within would surely help to clear his head. And it was very reassuring to see his familiar, nearly indecipherable scrawl on the pages, even more so that he recognized the entries, remembered making them.  
  
Thumbing through the pages to the later entries, however, he found the spot at which his memory failed. The handwriting was unmistakably his own, but he had no recollection of the brewing sessions the entries detailed.   
  
It was a rather insignificant history to be sure, nothing beyond the mundane, but it was still disturbing to know that he'd written the information, had brewed the potions, and had no memory of doing so.  
  
He was about to close the book, vaguely disappointed that no memories had been sparked by the history, when he reached a date, nearly a year ago, by Severus's reckoning, where the entry made no sense. The description labeled it a concoction that was used in the treatment of heart disease; not an everyday potion, certainly, but it wasn't uncommon for Severus to brew something on commission. However, in this case, the listed ingredients were entirely inconsistent with the named potion—the most conspicuous being the absence of foxglove. Presuming he hadn't lost his mind while making this entry, he could only conclude he'd done it deliberately. Why he would do such a thing, he couldn't imagine.  
  
Looking again at the ingredients listed, Severus couldn't put his finger on what it might have been. It was a bit more complex than the typical potions logged in the book, and some of the items on the list were non-standard as well. Clearly, he'd not wanted the brew discovered, though any potions brewer of even limited experience would recognize immediately that something was amiss. Likely, then, the disguise had been intended for an individual possessing only a rudimentary understanding of potions—Potter, perhaps?   
  
Severus checked the date again, and wondered, an idea slowly forming. The timing would be right, though he couldn't say precisely when the binding had taken place. He reviewed the list of ingredients a third time and decided that this very well could be a potion used in a binding ceremony.  
  
The question remained, then: why had he disguised it?   
  
Luckily, he had nothing but time in which to do some research, and having a mission gave Severus a sense of purpose that had been missing since he'd awoken. Fumbling in the bedside table, he found a piece of parchment, and oddly, a Muggle writing implement. He set about making a list of the books he'd need to research this puzzle (noting vaguely that Muggle ink was not meant for writing on parchment), determined to find an answer, and eagerly anticipating the hunt ahead of him.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Three days and twenty-eight useless books later, Severus was slightly less enthusiastic about his quest. He sat on the bed, surrounded by the discarded volumes, somewhat discouraged. He'd been certain that he'd run across that series of ingredients before, but he'd not found a single potion that even resembled the odd combination.  
  
He sighed and reached for number twenty-nine, but stopped short when he felt an intense energy ripple through the air around him, covering his face in just enough time to avoid the bulk of the glass shards raining down around him, as the wall sconces above him and the windows to his right seemed to implode spontaneously.   
  
Once the noise of it abated, Severus shook his head to dislodge the glass bits that had fallen into his hair. The magic had felt more like a wave rolling over him than a focused assault. Nevertheless, the absence of his wand made him wary. He refused, however, to sit there and wait for the trouble to find him.   
  
He moved cautiously out of the room, seeing the same destruction as he moved through the house and down the stairs, but no sign of its cause.   
  
When he reached the library, however, the source of the energy wave became apparent.  
  
"I said just leave it alone, Dobby!"  
  
"Dobby will fix it for Master Harry," the elf screeched pleadingly.  
  
"No! Just leave it and _get out_!" An unidentified object crashed against the bookcase behind the elf and broke into several pieces, joining the broken glass on the floor.  
  
Severus had never seen Potter treat the house-elf in such a manner; it spoke volumes about his state of mind. He felt compelled to intervene, though he rarely dealt with house-elves. Even at Hogwarts, he'd avoided the kitchens as much as possible; the elves' fawning eagerness had made him extremely uneasy. He spoke up from the doorway, using an authoritative tone, "Dobby, please see to the damage on the upper levels first." The house-elf looked relieved to have the directive, as he blinked out of sight.  
  
Potter was pinching the bridge of his nose, seemingly working to calm the rage that had been emanating from him when Severus had entered the room.  
  
"Would you care to explain why all of the glass in the house has been shattered?" Severus kept his voice neutral in the event that Potter hadn't successfully brought his temper under control.  
  
"No. I don't care to explain it," Potter sniped at him, his face pale, hands fisted tightly at his side, and determinedly not making eye contact with Severus, which was no deterrent—unintentional magic of this magnitude was uncommon, and certainly begged an explanation.  
  
"I wish to know, and I have a right to know, given the fact that I was just showered by sharp pieces of glass."  
  
"You want to know? Fine! _This_." Potter shoved a crumpled wad at Severus. "This is what hacked me off."   
  
Smoothing out the wrinkled parchment, the reason for Potter's ire became clear. The _Daily Prophet_ 's headline proclaimed:   
  
_'The Boy Who Lived and The Man Who Pulled His Strings.'  
An Exposé: by Rita Skeeter. _  
  
"Call me Pinocchio," Potter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
Severus was strangely indifferent to it; that rag had defamed him on too many occasions in the past. He'd developed a thick skin over the years, and was generally unconcerned by the biased opinions published under the guise of true reporting.  
  
"Ah. Well, Ms. Skeeter strikes again." Severus returned the paper to its crumpled state and chucked it into the fire.  
  
"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Potter was beside himself, clearly frustrated. "She basically accused you of manipulating me, and blamed you for the length of time it took to vanquish Voldemort—that you deliberately kept me from doing it for so long. She insinuates that you enchanted me somehow, taking advantage of a young, impressionable _boy_." Potter spit out the last in derision.   
  
Severus stood with his arms crossed in front of him, looking down his nose at Potter, no small feat, considering they were very nearly the same height. Potter needed to vent some of the steam he'd built up—that was clear—better for it to be verbally than another round of unintentional magic. He goaded him further, "It's all rubbish, Potter, not worthy of the energy you're expending."  
  
"Are you mad?" Potter stalked from behind the desk that was between them to stand in front of Severus, and Severus changed his stance, placing his hands on his hips. A more battle-ready position; Potter was unpredictable in this state of mind. He poked Severus in the chest and shouted, "She all but called you a child molester, and you're just going to stand there and shrug? You're unbelievable!" He buried both hands in the black tangle of hair, pressing the heels of his hands against his head. "I'm outraged, and I'm sick and tired of people saying this kind of shit about you. God, I just.... I can't talk to you!" He pulled at the hair before releasing it, then fisted his hands at his side once again. "I miss that. Don't you get it? I miss you, you sodding arse! I'm sick of feeling as if I have an enormous hole in my chest! I'm tired of—"  
  
Severus had prepared for the possibility of Potter's rage becoming physical; he was not at all prepared for what Potter actually did. For weeks, he'd been certain that his mind was playing tricks on him, all those near-kiss sensations he'd been experiencing. He knew now that it hadn't been his imagination at all, because this time, Potter did not pull back.  
  
His mouth claimed Severus's forcefully, hungrily. Shocked at first by the unexpected assault, he didn't respond, but it quickly became impossible to resist. The heat was all consuming, and Severus was willingly drawn into it, as the demanding lips moved over his own, and then parted, releasing the tongue that Severus welcomed to slide along his own. It was every bit as good as the two memories he'd experienced, and so much better at the same time.  
  
Potter pressed against him and Severus leant into the contact, bringing his hand up to lightly cup either side of Potter's face, giving and taking in equal measure. He couldn't get close enough to him, wanted to climb into the incredible sensation and live there forever. And he was about to try, about to pull Potter even closer to him, when Potter moaned, then made a short anguished sound, pushing Severus away from him and pressing a shaking hand to his mouth.  
  
"Oh god, Severus. I didn't mean.... I didn't want to pressure you into.... I'm so sorry." Potter backed away, turned, and then fled the room, and Severus was befuddled for a moment by the abrupt change of circumstance.  
  
He brought a hand up to his lips, and then sank down onto the leather sofa behind him. It had been intense and had brought to the surface the growing attraction he'd felt toward Potter, bringing with it the confusion that had been plaguing him of late.  
  
The fireplace whooshed with green flame and a head appeared in the Floo. "Harry? Oh, Severus—may I come through?"  
  
He mentally shook off the befuddled feeling to respond automatically, gesturing with his hand, "You may."  
  
Granger stepped out of the Floo, brushing at the soot on her light blue robes. She graced him with a warm smile. "How are you feeling? You look a bit flushed."  
  
"Nothing to be concerned about, Miss Granger, I assure you." He wondered absurdly if it would shock the young woman to know the reason for his flushed state, then decided it likely wouldn't—she'd been a bit of an irritating know-it-all in his classes, but she'd also been a sensible sort. "What was it that you required?"  
  
"I'm Mrs. Weasley now, but I wish you'd call me Hermione, as you used to." She smiled at him again before continuing, "I just wanted to check on Harry. I see he's already read the article." She gestured to the destruction around them. "Is this the extent of it?"  
  
"No, I'm afraid not."  
  
"Oh dear," she sighed. "Ron at least managed to keep the mess in a single room, which he's currently sorting out. Honestly, throwing things like a child, as if that would help the situation."   
  
"Yes, well, in Potter's case, it was unintentional magic—it shattered all of the glass in the house."  
  
"Unintentional?" Her eyes grew wide. "Goodness. I knew his power had grown stronger since the final battle, but I had no idea...." She looked at Severus in a measuring manner, so he braced himself for what might be forthcoming, and wasn't disappointed. "That bond you chose, Severus, I must say, you really had us stumped. Harry was relentless about finding the one you'd chosen, but I didn't realize it was actually Greek rather than Latin, as we'd assumed, until it was almost too late." She crossed her arms in front of herself, as if she were cold, and shook her head, seeming to relive the moment. "Harry was so relieved, but beside himself at the same time, knowing what you were planning to do for him. And _to_ him, I suppose."   
  
He was stunned, but managed to keep his face neutral; Granger seemed to believe that he and Potter had discussed the matter, and he didn't want to tip his hand. He made a non-committal noise and she smiled a sad sort of a smile before continuing, "He was frantic until we finally found it. He'd've been absolutely devastated if he hadn't found a way to save you."  
  
Severus merely nodded in acknowledgement of the statement, unable to process it properly as his brain was currently engaged, putting the pieces together, a picture beginning to form of the bond and of the events that had led to his injury and subsequent amnesia.  
  
"Well, I should get back and check on Ron's progress. Would you please tell Harry that I stopped by?" She walked toward the Floo after Severus's nod of agreement, then turned back to look at him. "It's good to see you again, Severus."   
  
He despised social niceties, but she'd provided him with valuable information, and the use of his given name coupled with her ease in conversation indicated that they'd shared a cordial relationship, so he responded, "You, as well..." He hesitated, not altogether certain he could do it, but he pressed on and added, "Hermione."  
  
She beamed at him while taking a pinch of Floo powder from the pot on the mantel, and then was gone in green flash.   
  
None too soon, as his mind had begun racing.  
  
Severus sat forward, elbows on knees, rubbing his face in consternation. Apparently, he'd withheld information from Potter—not only regarding the mysterious potion, but the identity of the specific bond, as well. Despite that, it seemed Potter, with the assistance of Granger, had managed to determine precisely which ritual Severus had chosen for their purposes. Moreover, for whatever reason, though Severus was rapidly gaining a better understanding, Potter had felt that Severus had required saving.   
  
He sprung from the sofa—Granger had said the bond was of Greek origin, and Severus now knew where to look. The book he needed was not among the potions tomes piled in his bedroom, but should be right there in the library with him.   
  
Severus found it straight away, exactly where he'd thought it would be. He'd purchased the book on a whim, interested in the subject as a man rather than an academic. What gay man wasn't interested in the Theban army and other ancient Greek warrior-lovers?  
  
Unlike any _Muggle_ gay man, however, his edition also included a section highlighting the wizards of the age… and their bonding practices.  
  
He flipped through the pages until he reached the chapter he sought, scanning down the page, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of this volume sooner.   
  
Severus closed the book and stalked out of the library. He had some reading to do.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Three o'clock in the morning, he decided, was a hideous hour in which to be awake.  
  
Severus had read the chapter on bondings several times. The topic was a fascinating one on its own—these lovers who'd fought side-by-side and were thought to be more ferocious because of it. And the bonding aspect, though far less commonly practiced, was no less intriguing.  
  
The relationships themselves had roots in pederasty, of course, which had Severus a bit ill at ease. Especially given that his own union with Potter bore such a close resemblance to the practice: Severus was twenty-years Potter's senior, and had apparently played the role of mentor in his battle training and as a lover. Not to mention Potter's undeniably pleasing physical attributes, which certainly fit the role of the eromenos.   
  
Luckily, there'd been no indication that a gift of livestock had been made, nor had there been a courtship, and although he could not recall the specifics, he felt certain their relationship had been entered into with a more egalitarian spirit. Potter had, thank Merlin, been older at the time of their first coupling than the typical eromenos, as well, being past the age of majority.  
  
Still, it felt as if only a thin line lay between him and 'dirty old bugger'.  
  
More disturbing than all of that, however, was the bonding ritual that, it appeared, he himself had chosen. While the benefits of it—the thought sharing, the 'connection' it provided, and ultimately the power transfer—were ideal for their situation, there was a certain level of... _affection_... that Severus was uncertain he was capable of. A level of caring that allowed the older of the pair, the erastes, to sacrifice himself for the eromenos.  
  
The bonds were only entered into infrequently, as it was not typical for the pederastic relationship to be a permanent one; however, in some cases the erastes and the eromenos chose to remain together. The bond Severus had chosen was even more unusual due to the highly specific circumstances that would make it a worthwhile selection. Its intention was essentially to protect the eromenos in the event the erastes was grievously injured, infusing the young man with his lover's magic, and, it seemed, all of his remaining energy resources, ultimately preserving the army's integrity, as well.   
  
And rarer still, were a few documented instances of an erastes invoking the power transfer without injury, for whatever reason of circumstance. As Severus had not suffered, to his knowledge, any injury beyond the extreme drain of his resources, it seemed that he fell into the latter category.  
  
He'd deliberately intended to sacrifice his life for Potter.  
  
Severus's lack of recall was never more frustrating than at that moment.   
  
And what of the bond? Potter had spoken of its effort to reassert itself, but Severus had not had that experience. Not even the slightest inkling of it.   
  
He slammed the book closed; there was not a single word regarding his situation, no mention at all of an instance where the erastes had survived after invoking the transfer of energy and magic.  
  
Granger had said that Potter had found a way to save him. Could his case be unique? Could he be the only one ever to have survived it?  
  
Speculation ran rampant through his mind. Perhaps the bond had not survived along with him. What of Potter's side of the bond, then? He'd said he felt as if he had 'an enormous hole' in his chest, if Severus recalled correctly, as if something were missing.   
  
Severus jumped up from the bed and began pacing, as his theory grew stronger and led him to a startling conclusion.   
  
As far as the bond was concerned, Severus Snape was a dead man.   
  
What did that mean for him, then, and for his unexpected future? And where did that leave Potter? A new idea bloomed in his troubled mind.   
  
Apart from the two memories he'd experienced, Severus had no recollection of their life together, and was no longer bound to Potter. It was apparent to him, even if his motivations were not, that he'd not intended to survive that final battle, that Potter had been meant to grieve for him and move on with his life. And, clearly, there were those critical of him and of his relationship with Potter. While he didn't give a whit what other people thought of him, it was painfully obvious that Potter was indeed concerned with public opinion.   
  
If he chose to, Severus could finish what he'd surely intended to do.  
  
The more he thought of it, the more merit the idea gained. He could leave this place, return to his comfortable, if shabby cottage in Spinner's End, and release Potter to get on with his life, free of public criticism, free of expectations, free of the most unsuitable bondmate ever to exist.  
  
And Severus could.... Well, he would think of something. The important thing was that he would be in familiar surroundings again, and Potter would be able to complete the grieving process and move on to better things.   
  
He touched his lips, remembering briefly the incredible kiss they'd shared only hours earlier, then he mentally placed it, along with the other two memories, into a neat little box labeled 'Harry', closing it tight, placing it on a shelf next the one labeled 'Reg'.   
  
It was all for the best.  
  
With that settled, Severus crawled into the bed, hoping for a few hours of sleep. He'd inform Potter in the morning.  
  
At ten o'clock, after the boy had failed to put in his customary, unannounced morning appearance, Severus went in search of him, and found him in the library, repairing the damage—the house-elf had apparently taken Potter at his word and had left the mess in that room alone.  
  
"Potter," Severus began, and the boy started, then slowly turned to face him, looking both mournful and contrite. "I would like a word with you."  
  
He hesitated, looking almost fearfully at Severus, before saying, "Look, you don't have to say anything. It was wrong of me and I'm sorry, Severus. I truly am. I didn't mean to do that to you. I don't know what came over me, to lose control like that. But it won't happen again. I promise."  
  
He was so intent upon delivering the news of his decision that it took Severus a moment to realize Potter was referring to the kiss. "No apology is necessary, Potter. That is not what I've come to discuss."   
  
"Oh." Potter looked at him more carefully. "Okay, then."   
  
Severus found himself hesitating for some reason, but he firmed his resolve, plunging ahead with it. "I wish to go home."  
  
"What? You are home." Clearly perplexed, Potter asked with concern, "Are you all right?"  
  
"You misunderstand me. I wish to go home—to _my_ home, in Spinner's End."  
  
He watched as Potter's expression raced from perplexed, to one of unbelievably raw emotion, until it closed off completely, becoming a neutral mask. "I see." Potter swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he continued haltingly, "When…uh…when will you go?"  
  
"Today, if it is convenient."  
  
"You don't have to go today, Severus. You're welcome to stay. You could at least wait until you can use your magic again," Potter objected.  
  
"I believe it would be best if I took my leave today." Severus hoped Potter would be reasonable—he was prepared for an argument, but he'd rather avoid a messy exchange.  
  
Pain flashed in the green eyes before they were shuttered, and Potter's shoulders sagged in defeat. "All right, then." He paused, straightening his spine, before continuing in a business-like tone, "Dobby has already been going over there twice a day." He explained, "We had him doing that to make sure it didn't look abandoned, so you wouldn't have to explain where you'd been staying instead—he's been acting as a caretaker since then. I insist that you allow him to continue, at least until you have use of your magic."  
  
As Potter was being sensible about the issue, he wouldn't argue the point. The house in Spinner's End was a Muggle house; however, there was no denying the house-elf's assistance would ease his situation. "Agreed."  
  
Potter turned away then, back to his task. "I'll let Dobby know. He should be ready for you by three o'clock."   
  
The implied dismissal rankled, but Severus thought it'd gone rather better than he'd expected, so he left the room without another word, and headed for the bedroom, where he prepared for his departure, pointedly ignoring the niggling sense that something was amiss.  
  
  
~~**~~

  
A week wasn't such a very long time. The fact that it'd felt as if a month had passed was simply due to his adjustment to living alone once again—he'd been alone before; given a choice, he'd always elected for solitude.   
  
It was peaceful, really: no interruptions; no one barging into his rooms unannounced; no one plying him with potions at all hours—no one harassing him about how much he wasn't eating.   
  
No one at all—just as he preferred it.  
  
Quiet, that's what it was. Neither cricket nor ticking mantel clock disturbed the air.   
  
The evening silence was, in fact, so absolute, so completely enveloping that Severus had a sudden need to slam closed the book lying unread on his lap, just to be certain that he hadn't somehow spontaneously lost his ability to hear. The corresponding thump that rent the blanket of silence was reassuring, and he sighed audibly, realizing then that he'd not heard a voice in a week—his own nor anyone else's. It was no wonder he'd thought he'd gone deaf.   
  
Incredible the fancies a mind could make one believe. For instance, his own mind was currently trying to make him believe that he actually missed Potter, which was utterly absurd. Severus Snape did not _miss_ people; most especially, he did not miss The Boy Who Lived. He was a loner by nature, and had no need to fill his existence with the intrusive presence of another human being, and all of the nonsense that accompanied it. He was the master of his own world, and answered to no one; he could do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased to do it.  
  
Potter was more than likely relieved to be well shut of him, in any case. Severus lifted the amber filled tumbler from the table at his side, sipped the liquid, and enjoyed the smooth burn as he swallowed. Potter would be just finishing supper this time of the day, quite possibly sharing it with someone else—someone like that bloody _Healer_ , no doubt. Severus glowered, expanding the scenario. He decided they were almost certainly drinking _his_ wine, enjoying a cozy little tête-à-tête, laughing and toasting the good fortune of Severus Snape's departure from their lives.  
  
He hurled the glass in his hand at the cold, empty fireplace across the room, where it shattered with a gratifying crash, and then growled at the accusing silence of the room that followed, "I. Am. _Not. Jealous_!"   
  
And as the room made no argument, he felt satisfied that he'd made his point.  
  
Severus stood and began pacing. Yes, if he were honest with himself, he could admit that Potter's company had not been nearly as unbearable as he would have expected. If he were to be _entirely_ honest, he'd have to admit that Potter's company had actually been quite agreeable.   
  
True or not, it was wholly irrelevant at this point—he'd finished what he'd started before he'd lost his memory. _It was all for the best_ , he reiterated, for what seemed the thousandth time since he'd left the manor. He had his solitude, his freedom, and Potter, in all likelihood, had a slew of prospects from which to choose. Severus slammed the door on that line of thinking.   
  
What he needed, he decided, was something to occupy his mind. Brewing had always served that purpose for him in the past, but was out of the question until he could use his magic. The book he'd endeavored to read earlier had been too dry. Perhaps something livelier, something more engaging might remedy his slide into brooding.  
  
He returned the tedious reference text to its place and moved to the shelves that housed his Muggle fiction. Scanning the bindings shelf by shelf, he looked for a title that called out to him. When he reached the halfway point, however, he discovered an unfamiliar object sitting innocently in front of his collection of Ian Fleming novels. It brought to mind a paperweight, but when Severus lifted it off the shelf, he found it to be much lighter than expected. Some sort of Muggle resin, he determined, with, of all things, a miniature Tower of London embedded within it.   
  
Suddenly, without any effort or fanfare, Severus knew precisely when he'd acquired the object, or rather, when Potter had. He studied the souvenir in wonder, as the memory gently unfolded….   
  
They'd met in London; a rendezvous that was illicit only for the information Severus was to provide the Order. Severus, disguised by Polyjuice, had nearly walked right past Potter, who'd managed a simple but convincing non-descript glamour. It wasn't until the smiling brilliant green eyes had found his own that Severus had known it was he. Potter, on the other hand, familiar with Severus's Polyjuice alter ego, had simply waited patiently for Severus to pick him out of the crowd.  
  
It'd been impulsive, reckless even, and could have easily sparked a disaster, but when Potter had suggested that they spend the day pretending to be tourists, his enthusiasm for the idea had proven impossible to resist—Severus recalled grimly that it had taken very little cajoling for him to agree to the ludicrous plan. They'd ended their adventure with a rather heated kiss, right there on the Tower Bridge, which had been teaming with Muggle tourists at the time, and Potter had insisted they purchase the souvenir to mark their carefree day.  
  
Before Severus could react to the knowledge, another memory of the paperweight struck him hard, nearly bringing him to his knees.  
  
 _Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and leant wearily against his chest of drawers, wondering how many times he would be subjected to this very same argument.  
  
"Potter, I do not wish to discuss it again. It's nearly impossible to break a bond once it is in place, and you've yet to provide me with a single remotely compelling reason to agree to such folly." Potter had a very bright future ahead of him, should he effectively vanquish the Dark Lord and survive the encounter. Why couldn't the boy comprehend the ramifications of what he was suggesting? Tying himself to a known Death Eater for a lifetime—he'd clearly lost his mind.  
  
Looking away from him, Potter mumbled something unintelligible—Severus couldn't possibly have heard what he'd thought. "What did you say?"  
  
Potter met his eyes this time, crossing his arms in front of himself defiantly, and repeated, "I said, the reason I want to tie myself to you is because I love you, Severus. And I reckon that's the very best reason to do it."  
  
Severus's blood began to boil; a seething rage was born within him at the words Potter had voiced, and had him searching for an outlet. He grabbed the nearest thing at hand, which turned out to be the Muggle trinket from the Tower of London. The object, and the memories of their day that it evoked, seemed to burn him from the inside and he threw it as hard as he could, but it missed the windows, hitting the heavy draperies with a sharp 'thwack' instead, bouncing ineffectually onto the carpet.   
  
Rage expanded within him, but he managed to keep it contained. Severus turned to Potter and hissed, with only the thinnest restraint, "Manipulation does not suit you, Potter. You've missed your mark with that rubbish." He stalked out of their bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windowpanes at one end of the hall, and made his way to the ground floor, seeking refuge in the cool damp of his laboratory.  
  
The need to be destructive was overwhelming—only a modicum of rational thought remained, but it was enough to prevent him from doing any irreversible damage to his belongings. When pacing finally seemed enough, he did just that, stalking from one end of the lab to the other, mindful of the debris, muttering to himself.  
  
"Love," Severus spat. Potter was a naive fool. Love was blind; love was pain; love was betrayal and bitter disappointment. Love couldn't be trusted.  
  
His mother had sworn, while healing his frequent injuries, that his father had loved him, 'in his own way'. She'd sworn she loved Severus, when she'd refused to remove them from the situation, had sworn she'd loved his father, while teaching an eight year-old Severus to heal her wounds with the wand she'd hidden away. She'd likely still loved the bastard even as he'd put her in her grave.  
  
Reg had spoken of love as well. The failure that time had been Severus's. Love hadn't been enough to move Severus to take the right course of action. He'd known love and had never expressed it to the man, then had lost Reg forever by his own cowardice.  
  
Albus Dumbledore had uttered the sentiment, and then had politely asked Severus to murder him.  
  
That was what love had bought Severus Snape.  
  
The adrenaline that had propelled him for the better part of an hour finally seeped away, and Severus crumpled to the lowest stone step. He bent in half, wrapping his long arms around his legs and rested his forehead on his knees.  
  
Potter's voice rang in his head, saying those dreaded words over and over again, and he found himself warming in spite of his philosophy on the subject. He was loved. He didn't want to be loved, had spent many years building walls around his own heart and walls around his person to keep that very thing from ever happening again.   
  
Yet Harry Potter loved him, nonetheless.  
  
A new emotion was supplanting the waning rage in his heart, blooming heartily in that cold, dark place within him, and the revelation hit Severus forcefully, causing him to become dizzy and nauseous, as it gripped his insides and turned him inside out, making him feel as though he'd taken a blow to the stomach.  
  
He was loved... and he loved in return.  
  
No. No. No, his mind wailed in rejection, but his heart was staunch and sang the horrible truth of it. Good god, how had that happened? When had Potter managed to get past all of his barriers? _ How _had Potter managed to infiltrate the space that he'd worked so diligently to keep concealed, to keep carefully guarded against intrusion?  
  
No, this wouldn't do at all.  
  
Who was the fool now? Loving a man twenty years his junior—a man who should have been untouchable to the likes of Severus Snape.   
  
What had he done?  
  
He sat on that step in abject misery, defeated by his own stupidity, by his complete and utter failure to protect Harry from the wretchedness that was inevitably to follow. This could not end well.  
  
An unformed idea began to take shape, however. Perhaps he could fix this. He could give Potter the bond he wanted, and could fix this situation at the same time. A little research was in order, but he thought he recalled reading of a bond that, if he were correct, should provide Potter with the power to get the job done, and would provide Severus with the means to rectify the mess, this unconscionable entanglement, he'd created. _  
  
The memory released him, and Severus did fall to his knees then. He turned and sat fully on the floor, his back to the bookcases, stunned, trying to catch his breath and calm his erratically beating heart.  
  
He'd experienced the memory with the cushioning distance of time, and had been granted an astounding revelation. It all became so clear to him.   
  
Then, without the rush he'd expected, everything else became clear as well—his memories returned to him in full, as if a partition had gently dissolved, revealing what had been there all along. Three years' worth of memories, the bulk of them dominated by Harry Potter, confirming what he'd only just begun to suspect—he truly was a fool.  
  
After he'd failed Regulus so miserably, Severus had sworn to himself that he would never again let fear rule him. But now, with Potter, he could see that he'd done just that—he'd let fear make his decision... not once, but _twice_. His fear had initially driven him to sacrifice his own life rather than face the terrifying possibility of love. And then, when he'd been granted a second chance, it'd caused him to throw everything away and to hide like the coward he was, in his safe, lonely little world.  
  
Severus found himself gripped by an uncharacteristic and paralyzing indecisiveness. What action, if any, should he take now that he'd been enlightened? He felt compelled to undo what his fear had set into motion. However, there were also valid arguments against reconsidering his decision to leave—he was too old, too jaded, too bitter and Potter was too young, too naive, too... _optimistic_. He'd used them initially as justification, yes, but they were legitimate concerns.  
  
 _Yet, despite those differences, the two of you managed to find common ground, managed to get along quite well, in fact_ , his inner Dumbledore-voice supplied. Still, by leaving, he'd offered Potter the opportunity for something better, and he may well have already taken Severus up on it.  
  
The scenario he'd concocted earlier surged in his mind then—Potter laughing and dining intimately with _Jonathan_ the infernal _Healer_. He couldn't bear it. His indecisiveness was cured when he came to a swift decision. Whether or not it was too late, he couldn't stand idly by while the _Healer_ took his place.  
  
Fear would not rule him again. He only hoped that Potter would be generous enough to grant him a third opportunity to make things right, however undeserved it might be.   
  
Severus sprang to his feet, ready to head off on his mission, but faltered when he realized there was a slight flaw in his plan. He began pacing, instead, as it always aided his thought process. He was willing to risk setting back his magic recovery by Apparating; however, there were strong anti-Apparation wards around the manor.   
  
He could Apparate to.... Where could he go? The manor Floo was only connected to a handful of locations on the Network. The wizarding hospital, of course the Weasleys, both older and younger... Hermione, then? He was certain she would assist him—her husband, however, might not be so eager. Weasley had grudgingly accepted him as Potter's partner, but they'd never shared the same sort of accord that he had with Hermione. Nevertheless, he would go to her and plead his case.  
  
Strategy finally in hand, he was about to put it into action when he heard a crash coming from his kitchen, and then, oddly, a rhythmic thumping. He was tempted to ignore it, but instead, sighed at the delay and went to investigate.  
  
The sight that greeted him was indeed an odd one. The house-elf, shards of pottery at his feet, was bashing his head against the ancient cooker. Infusing his voice with the considerable authority at his command, Severus ordered, "Cease that nonsense, elf. You are not to punish yourself."  
  
The elf squeaked in surprise, but stopped the racket immediately, then launched frantically into an explanation for his presence, "Dobby is sorry, sir! Dobby didn't mean to break it. Master must come with Dobby! Master Harry is not letting Dobby heal his wounds. Master Harry is drinking spirits and acting like a house-elf on Butterbeer. Master must come with Dobby, quickly!"  
  
Use of the words 'heal his wounds' had Severus concerned, and as it happened to suit his precise need, he made no argument. He nodded curtly, and extended his arm to the elf, who grabbed hold of Severus's sleeve and whisked them away.   
  
In half a heartbeat, they landed in the library at the manor, and found Potter, slumped on the sofa, clutching a nearly empty bottle of scotch. Severus quietly moved closer, and was appalled by Potter's appearance. The entire left side of his face was battered and bloodied, his left eye was swollen shut, and his nose was very likely broken. There were bruises blooming along his jaw and his top lip was swollen, split open, and bloodied. The right side, though less horrific to see, hadn't escaped unscathed either, and his eyeglasses were nowhere to be seen.  
  
Severus reached for the bottle, to put it aside, and discovered that Potter was not sleeping as he'd first assumed. "Can't have this'n. S'mine. Get'cher own." He made an effort to sit up, but grabbed his side, wincing. "Jus' gonna stay here," he huffed, as he slumped back down into the cushions.  
  
"What happened to you, Potter?"  
  
"Said filth 'bout choo. Coon't let 'em, Sev'rus. S'not right." He sighed, then began cackling drunkenly. "Heh. Snot…" He sniggered, and pointed an unsteady finger at Severus. "Think I look bad…sh'see 'em other blokes. Three 'em. Won' say shit 'bout choo agin. Took care'v'it. Took care'v'u. Don' worry." He sighed, then holding his side gingerly, he added. "Hurts."  
  
Severus suspected there was a broken rib or two causing the pain, and as Potter had begun wheezing slightly, he suspected a punctured a lung, as well. "I'm certain it does hurt. Why don't we have Dobby heal you, hmm?"   
  
He tried to extricate the bottle once more and was again rebuffed. "Oi! S'mine!" Potter seemed to realize, then, that Severus was there, his one open eye squinted suspiciously. "Yer not here… left me," he said accusingly. Potter took a long pull from the bottle and swiped the back of his hand across his abused lips. "Bastard." He sat up suddenly, heedless of the pain the action had to have caused him, and hurled the bottle into the fire, where it exploded, the liquid inside of it causing the flames to roar for a moment. "Bastard. Left. Me!" he shouted, and then grabbed on to his head as if trying to keep it on his shoulders.  
  
Potter slid off the sofa and onto the floor in a puddle, the anger he'd expressed deteriorating into intoxicated weeping. "Left me. Feels like you died, Sev'rus. 'cept yer alive. S'not fair. Why'd'joo kill you? Hurts." He sniffled.   
  
Severus knew Potter wasn't talking about his ribs just then and remorse settled heavily in his chest. A fine mess, indeed. He used a calming tone when he responded, "I'm here now, Harry. Allow Dobby to heal your injuries, and we shall discuss matters when you are feeling better."  
  
Potter sniffled again, leaning back against the sofa, ignoring Severus's quiet plea. "Love you s'much. M'shoo." His head lolled to the side and he was out cold.  
  
Severus sighed in relief and called for the elf, who appeared at his elbow before he could finish saying his name. "Take him up to the bedroom— _our_ bedroom," he amended. "I shall join you shortly."  
  
He looked around the room, noticing now the nearly empty bookcases, which made the once warm and inviting room feel cold and desolate. He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face, then denied the feeling of regret the chance to grow within him. This too would be remedied.  
  
Dobby had situated Potter in the bed by the time Severus arrived in their room. "Get him out of those clothes, Dobby, and see to his ribs and whatever damage they've done."  
  
Removing the tattered and bloodstained clothing revealed purpling bruises that circled his torso, and Severus added possible kidney damage to the list. It was a wonder Potter had managed to remain conscious for as long as he had—alcohol consumption notwithstanding.   
  
The healing treatments took nearly an hour to complete; the elf had checked Potter from head to foot several times to be certain nothing had been missed. But Potter now seemed to be resting comfortably, and Severus was satisfied that he was whole again.  
  
"Could you please fetch a hangover remedy from the stores, Dobby? And Harry's eyeglasses—have you seen them?"  
  
"Dobby has Master Harry's spectacles, Dobby has repaired them." The elf conjured the eyeglasses and handed them to Severus, his large eyes filled with pride, and Severus placed them on the bedside table so they would be at hand when Potter eventually awakened.  
  
Once the hangover potion was delivered, he dismissed the elf with sincere gratitude for his efforts, and then prepared for the night ahead of him.  
  
Severus was eventually faced with yet another decision—after two hours of watching Potter sleep peacefully, it became apparent that his vigilance was unnecessary, and the exercise itself… rather mind-numbing.  
  
He hadn't thought beyond getting Potter healed and comfortable. What he wanted was to crawl into that bed—his dilemma was that he'd not been able to discuss their situation with Potter, and it seemed presumptuous to invite himself back into it without doing so first. However, his purpose in coming there, apart from the distraction of Potter's injuries, had been to reclaim his place in that bed next to the man.  
  
It took him only a second to decide. He'd take his place as planned, and suffer the consequences if Potter objected in the morning.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Morning light slanted through the slightly parted draperies, landing innocently on the pillow near Severus's head. It was enough, though, to wake him, and he discovered that he'd curled himself around Potter during the night.  
  
The skin-to-skin contact was delicious and oh-so wonderfully familiar, as was the scent of Potter that filled his nose, which he buried deeper in the dark hair at his nape. It seemed his attention wasn't entirely unwelcome either—Potter's arms were hugging the hand that Severus had wrapped around him.  
  
Severus gave no thought to untangling himself from Potter as he tried to determine whether or not his bed partner was still sleeping. He had his answer only moments later when a woeful groan issued from that direction. He did untangle his arm then, to reach for the potion on the bedside table, and said in a low voice near Potter's ear, "Here, swallow the entire dose."  
  
He slipped his arm back around Potter's chest, rubbing in a soothing manner, while Potter followed the directive, placing the empty phial on the bedside table once it was drained. He grabbed hold of Severus's stroking hand, but gave no indication that he'd experienced any relief from the dose. The potion should have taken effect immediately, and Severus began to wonder if it'd somehow been a bad batch.  
  
Leaning up on the elbow not wrapped around Potter, he saw Potter's face scrunched, eyes closed tight. Concerned, Severus asked, in the same low voice, "Did the potion not ease your head?"  
  
Potter whispered softly, "No. The potion worked." He clutched Severus's arm closer to him, but still did not open his eyes.  
  
"Why won't you open your eyes, then?"  
  
He hesitated, then said quietly, "I’m dreaming, and if I open my eyes, you'll be gone."  
  
Severus couldn't resist; he did untangle his arm at that point and said, "You are awake, Potter." With a smirk, Severus pinched him firmly on the arm.   
  
"Ow!" Potter opened his eyes then, and shifted onto his back to look up at Severus. "You're really here."  
  
"I am." There was much they needed to discuss, so he decided to start with the most recent occurrence and work his way backward. "Would you care to tell me what happened to you yesterday?"  
  
The green eyes gazed at him for a moment, then Potter appeared to search his memory. "Oh... uh..."   
  
He hesitated, and Severus thought he might downplay the incident, so he said firmly, "The truth, if you please."  
  
Potter sighed. "Well, hmm. I was leaving a committee meeting last night—I'd stayed behind to close up, so I was alone—and they had me before I was out the door. Three of them." A sheepish look crossed his face and he looked down, before continuing, "I disarmed them, and then I, uh..." He hesitated again. The green eyes flicked toward Severus's and then fled. "I sort of lost it." He rushed on, "But they were saying all sorts of rubbish about you, and I was already sort of frustrated and angry, really angry... with you, with myself, with our situation... and I, er, sort of took it out on them."  
  
When Potter's eyes met his again, Severus simply raised an eyebrow. "Please define 'sort of lost it'."   
  
Potter let out a resigned sigh and then continued his tale, "Once I'd disarmed them, I, uh, well.... You know that saying, about being so angry you see red? I never understood it until that moment. Before I could even think to stop myself, I punched the one who'd said the worst stuff right in the mouth." Potter looked at the knuckles on his right hand, running his other thumb over them, perhaps remembering that they'd been bloodied, bruised and swollen only a few hours ago. "And the other blokes weren't too keen that I'd bashed their mate, so they joined in—it turned into a Muggle brawl after that. I, er, never drew my wand." Looking at Severus shrewdly, he asked, "That's not why you're here, is it? Because if that's all you're here for, I wish you hadn't come." He swallowed hard. "I don't think I could take watching you walk away again, Severus."  
  
The raw emotion, the vulnerability in his expression caused a tightening in Severus's chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, until the sensation receded somewhat. "No, that is not the only reason I've come. I wish to stay, if you'll have me."  
  
"If I'll...? Are you mad?" It may have been a rejection but for the fact that Potter was now clutching Severus's hand so tightly that his fingertips were tingling. There was a spark of hope in Potter's eyes, but then his expression closed off slightly, becoming uncertain, and Severus knew he'd have to offer more than just a request to stay. "Why did you leave?"  
  
Such a simple question should have had a simple answer, but how did one sum up a lifetime's worth of bitterness and pain, of disappointment and loss? "Someday, very soon, I promise you, we shall sit down together and I will disclose all of the ugliness that is my history, all of the horrible truths that have made me what I am today—something we should have done a long time ago. For now, though, suffice it to say it was fear that caused me to make such a rash decision."  
  
Potter's eyebrows rose in incredulity. "Fear? Of me? It _was_ the kiss, then?"  
  
"Not precisely, no." Severus floundered for a moment, searching for the right words. "I was plunged into a situation of which I had no memory. It was a situation that wholly contradicted everything I knew to be true at the time." He paused, reluctant to admit it but knowing he owed it to Potter to override his customary reticence and be more forthcoming. "And I found myself responding to it in a way that was very... uncomfortable for me."  
  
His words were met with a grin from Potter. "So even though you hated me, you still wanted me."  
  
"In a manner of speaking. However, I've never hated you. I've resented you, I've disliked you intensely, but I've never _hated_ you."  
  
"That's a very fine line, Severus," Potter said dryly.   
  
"Fine, but distinct, nonetheless."  
  
An unconvinced, "Hmm," was Potter's response. "So you left before you were overcome with the need to jump on me." It was not a question.  
  
"Fear is a powerful motivator." Severus knew it was time to address the last issue standing between them. "It is the very same motivator that led me to choose that particular bond for us."  
  
Potter lifted his head up off the pillow, astonishment on his face. "You remember?"  
  
"I do. The Tower of London brought it all back to me."  
  
He threw his arms around Severus's neck and hugged him tightly. "I'm so glad I bought that thing!" Potter released him and rested on the pillow again. Reaching up, he ran a hand down the side of Severus's face. His sparkling eyes turned serious again, and Severus knew there was still some explaining to do. "So getting back to the bond.... You're telling me that fear made you choose a bond that would _kill_ you? I don't understand."  
  
Severus was again floundering for a moment, trying to find the words to explain it. "Death was easy. Death was an inevitability that I was prepared to face at any given moment. The bond offered the opportunity to control the when of it, while providing you with the power needed to defeat the Dark Lord. It seemed the perfect solution. I did not account for your tenacity."  
  
"You didn't account for Hermione," Potter said wryly.  
  
That galled him now that he thought of it; he'd concocted an excellent story to tell her. "I believed that I had satisfied her curiosity."  
  
"Hermione's curiosity is insatiable. Your explanation did throw her off for a bit, but it only made her look that much harder. She's a research fiend." Potter paused and lifted a hand to brush the hair from Severus's face, then ran his thumb over Severus's lips, which ached to connect with Potter's.   
  
They were not quite finished, however. A question remained in Potter's eyes, and Severus braced for it, knowing instinctively what it would be. "I understand not fearing death, Severus, and I understand it enabled you to make the decision. But I still don't understand _why_. I mean… there are so many other bonds to choose from, but that's the only one that would have taken you from me. What were you so afraid of that dying was the better choice?"  
  
Here was the moment of truth. Severus was thoughtful for a moment, carefully crafting his answer. "My life, most especially the last twenty years or so, has been fraught with unbelievable horrors and enormous danger, which I have gladly met and, for the most part, bested. None of that..." He hesitated, as a knowing smile grew on Potter's face; clearly he anticipated what Severus was about to say. "You are going to make me say it, aren't you?"  
  
The grin broadened, then softened. "Just this once, yeah."  
  
Severus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His carefully crafted answer did not contain the words Potter was looking for, and so, required some editing—he owed Potter the truth. "None of my sometimes-terrifying experiences prepared me…" He hesitated again. Why was it so difficult to say the blasted word, for pity's sake? "None of it prepared me for the possibility of… love… of loving _you_ in particular, Harry." There, he'd said it.  
  
Harry's breath seemed to hitch and he closed his eyes, then a slow smile spread across his face, and when the green eyes met his own, Severus's world finally seemed to right itself. Harry cupped the side of his face and then ran his fingertips over Severus's lips. "I know how hard it was for you to say that. It means the world to me that you did." The fingers worked their way into Severus's hair, and inexplicably, even though he'd heard it before, Severus suddenly found himself breathless with anticipation, wanting—no, needing—to hear the sentiment returned, and was rewarded when Harry said softly, "I love you, too, Severus."  
  
The hand that was tangled in his hair added pressure to the back of his neck, and Severus took the hint. A sweet caress of a kiss was a welcome home, then gentle nipping became hungry exploration as Severus plunged into the lush world of Harry's mouth and drank him in like the parched man that he was, finally finding his way out of the barren place in which he'd existed these last months.  
  
Severus didn't know how long he could wait. His blood had surged at the contact and his need for Harry grew with each passing moment. He shifted to move between Harry's legs, but Harry had other ideas, as he pressed back against Severus, pushing insistently on Severus's chest.   
  
"Please?" he whispered desperately against Severus's mouth. He hesitated for only a moment, but understanding won out and Severus put his arms around Harry and rolled onto his back—Severus had come to claim his place in the bed and Harry now wished to claim Severus.  
  
Their cocks slid together sensuously as Severus kissed along Harry's jaw, nipping an earlobe and nibbling along the soft skin behind Harry's ear, and Harry moaned in pleasure from the attention. "I know you prefer my fingers, Severus, but I don't think I can wait that long."  
  
Severus felt the tingle of Harry's favorite preparatory spell and understood for the first time why the man enjoyed it so much; he was open and ready, empty and desperate to be filled. Harry obliged, lifting Severus's legs to his shoulders, caressing the backs of his thighs and along his cheeks, then sliding into Severus, filling the needy void within him.  
  
"So long, so, so long. Missed you so much. Feels so good." Harry's words then became an unintelligible stream of grunts and enthusiastic noises.   
  
The tentative thrusting turned into to slow, sure strokes. Severus needed more though, and moved his legs downward, off Harry's shoulders to circle his waist, adding gentle pressure to his back and Harry leant forward to claim Severus's mouth as well.  
  
This new angle caused Harry's cock to find Severus's prostate, rubbing against it at every departure and return, and Severus's own aching flesh was trapped between their bellies, sliding in the heavenly friction. He slid his hand in between them to take hold and add more pressure to the incredible mix of sensations, letting Harry's pace dictate the stroking as he drove in and out of Severus.  
  
He lifted his hips, meeting Harry's thrusts, demanding more, wanting it harder and needing it faster, sucking on Harry's tongue to complete the circuit. His body and senses were filled to the brim with Harry, and then overflowing as he found the release he sought, at the same time that Harry cried out, "Severus!" and pumped his own warm release into Severus, merging them, in that moment, into one being.  
  
Severus held Harry tight as they both came back to themselves, then rolled them to the side, feeling the loss as Harry slipped from his body. He thoroughly enjoyed Harry's blissfully sated expression and kissed him for it.   
  
Harry grinned around the kiss. "Mmmm. Nice." He perked up then and squeezed Severus to him. "Oh god, I'm so glad you're home. I can't even tell you how much I missed you."  
  
Remorse tried to slither its way into Severus's afterglow, but he tamped it down. "I apologize for all that you've endured—it was never my intention to hurt you."  
  
"I'm just glad you came home." Harry kissed him in a soft, slow manner, which Severus took as forgiveness. "And some good did come of it all. Voldemort is gone, for one." He kissed the end of Severus's nose. "For another, we're going to have better communication between us." Harry raised an eyebrow, letting Severus know that it wasn't a request but a statement of fact. He grinned then and said, "And best of all, Ron changed his tune about you when he found out you were going to die for me."   
  
Sarcasm, always at the ready for him, dripped from Severus's response. "Oh, indeed. That certainly makes it all worthwhile, doesn't it? Finally having Weasley's approval."  
  
Harry chuckled and planted another quick kiss on Severus's lips, then a look of consternation crossed his face. "There's one thing I don't understand, Severus. I can't feel the bond anymore, why is that?"  
  
"I believe it was broken, having served its purpose, when you stopped the power transfer." Severus plunged ahead before Harry could react to the news, "However, I wish to remedy that, as well—if you're amenable to the idea."  
  
The green eyes lit from within. "Yes, I'm _amenable_." He made a happy noise. "But this time we'll do it properly, yeah?" He hugged Severus to him again, and this time, Severus kissed him deeply. When they finally broke apart, Harry said, in a voice that was only half-joking, "Don't you ever leave me again."  
  
Twice he'd been a fool, but Severus was not an idiot; he'd learned his lesson the hard way, and he'd learned it well. He responded solemnly, making it a vow, "No. Never again."  
  
  
~~**~~  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
  
"Stop fussing with it, Potter." Severus walked over to the full-length mirror and lightly slapped Potter's hands away from the collar of his dove-gray robes. The color was truly flattering on him; their eyes met in the mirror as Severus stood behind him, and the green eyes shone brilliantly, highlighted by the soft gray.  
  
"It won't lay flat," Potter pouted.  
  
Severus reached into his pocket, pulled out his new, mahogany and phoenix feather wand, and used a spell his mother had taught him to smooth the errant collar of Potter's dress robes.  
  
"There. All better, now?" Severus asked dryly. He checked the state of his own charcoal robes and found them satisfactory. He'd have preferred black, but he'd been told, rather emphatically, that it was too somber for the occasion.  
  
Potter grinned broadly, and then kissed him on the cheek. "My hero."  
  
"Indeed." Replacing his wand, Severus made his way over to the window and looked down into the garden below. "Why the devil are there so many idiots trampling our garden?"  
  
"Those would be our guests, Severus." Potter rolled his eyes. "Are you going to be difficult?"  
  
"I am never _difficult_ ," he sniffed. "However, it appears that there are more people down there than we'd discussed." He raised an eyebrow in question.  
  
Potter looked sheepish, but didn't turn away. "After _The Quibbler_ article set the record straight, there were a lot of people who wanted to show their support."  
  
Severus snorted. "Gawkers, you mean."  
  
"Guests… they're called _guests_. I want the whole world to know about us this time. The more people involved, the smaller the chance that it'll be misrepresented."  
  
Severus made a non-committal noise; he agreed with the wisdom of the sentiment, but when he'd returned his attention to the garden, he was distracted by someone he'd spotted in the sea of people below, and couldn't help commenting, a slight edge in his voice, "I see you've invited the _Healer_."  
  
Potter joined him at the window then, circling an arm around his waist. "Yes, I invited _Jonathan_." He smiled indulgently, before continuing, "And if you'll look to his right," he directed, and Severus looked where Potter indicated with his free hand, noticing now that the Healer wasn't alone, "you'll see an absolutely gorgeous woman. That's his wife, Amita. And the beautiful little girl next to her is their daughter, Prerna."   
  
Feeling foolish in the face of this new information, and not caring for the sensation one bit, Severus tried to untangle himself from Potter, who would not have it. He stood in front of Severus, blocking his view of the garden, encircling his waist with both arms this time, and then kissed him soundly. Severus resisted at first, just to be petulant, but quickly melted into it, raising his hands up to Potter's face, running his thumbs along his prominent cheekbones as the meeting of lips became a more heated twining of tongues.  
  
"Oh, for Merlin's sake—couldn't you two have waited until the ceremony for that?"  
  
Severus broke off the kiss, though he landed another quick one on Potter's lips, and then, without taking his eyes away from the smiling green ones, he asked, "Can I help you, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"Nope, I'm good. Only, the officiant is getting antsy; I think the crowd is making her nervous."  
  
Potter chuckled, "Best get on with it, then. Lucky for her it's nothing more complicated than a simple hand-fasting." He looked at Severus and grinned. "Simple, but binding."   
  
Over his shoulder, Severus added, dismissing the man, "We shall join you shortly, Mr. Weasley."  
  
The tall redhead nodded, grinning, and left the room.  
  
"Would it kill you to call him Ron?" Potter asked.  
  
Since his tone had been lighthearted, Severus responded wryly, "That shall forever remain a mystery, as I am unwilling to risk it."  
  
Potter laughed and held out his hand. "Ready, then?"  
  
Severus sighed in a dramatic fashion, "As ever I shall be."  
  
He slipped his hand into Potter's warm one, and they walked together toward the staircase. At the top step, Severus stopped abruptly, suddenly in need of a connection beyond their linked hands, and kissed him again, finding in it the reassurance he required. Potter smiled around the kiss, and then pulled back, tugging Severus's hand, clearly impatient to start their journey down the stairs.  
  
As they moved forward toward whatever the future might hold for them, Severus reflected on all that had transpired since he'd awoken, exceedingly thankful that, before it was too late, he'd realized what he'd nearly lost, and even more grateful for what he'd found.  
  
  
 _~FIN~_

 


End file.
